QUEEN HORTENSE

A Life picture of the Napoleonic Era

BY

L. MÜHLBACH

AUTHOR OF PRINCE EUGENE AND HIS TIMES, JOSEPH II, AND HIS COURT, MERCHANT OF BERLIN, ETC. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY

CHAPMAN COLEMAN

1910

CONTENTS. 

BOOK I. 

_DAYS OF CHILDHOOD AND OF THE REVOLUTION. _

CHAPTER

 I. --Days of Childhood. II. --The Prophecy. III. --Consequences of the Revolution. IV. --General Bonaparte. V. --The Marriage. VI. --Bonaparte in Italy. VII. --Vicissitudes of Destiny. VIII. --Bonaparte's Return from Egypt. 

BOOK II. 

_THE QUEEN OF HOLLAND. _

CHAPTER

 I. --A First Love. II. --Louis Bonaparte and Duroc. III--Consul and King. IV. --The Calumny. V. --King or Emperor. VI. --Napoleon's Heir. VII. --Premonitions. VIII. --The Divorce. IX. --The King of Holland. X. --Junot, the Duke d'Abrantes. XI. --Louis Napoleon as a Vender of Violets. XII. --The Days of Misfortune. XIII. --The Allies in Paris. XIV. --Correspondence between the Queen and Louise de Cochelet. XV. --Queen Hortense and the Emperor Alexander. XVI. --The New Uncles. XVII. --Death of the Empress Josephine. 

BOOK III. 

_THE RESTORATION. _

CHAPTER

 I. --The Return of the Bourbons. II. --The Bourbons and the Bonapartes. III. --Madame de Staël. IV. --Madame de Staël's Return to Paris. V. --Madame de Staël's Visit to Queen Hortense. VI. --The Old and New Era. VII. --King Louis XVIII. VIII. --The Drawing-room of the Duchess of St. Leu. IX. --The Burial of Louis XVI. And his Wife. X. --Napoleon's Return from Elba. XI. --Louis XVIII. 's Departure and Napoleon's Arrival. XII. --The Hundred Days. XIII. --Napoleon's Last Adieu. 

BOOK IV. 

_THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU. _

CHAPTER

 I. --The Banishment of the Duchess of St. Leu. II. --Louis Napoleon as a Child. III. --The Revolution of 1830. IV. --The Revolution in Rome and the Sons of Hortense. V. --The Death of Prince Napoleon. VI. --The Flight from Italy. VII. --The Pilgrimage. VIII. --Louis Philippe and the Duchess of St. Leu. IX. --The Departure of the Duchess from Paris. X. --Pilgrimage through France. XI. --Fragment from the Memoirs of Queen Hortense. XII. --The Pilgrim. XIII. --Conclusion. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

General Bonaparte suppressing the Revolt of the Sections, _Frontispiece_. 

View of the Tuileries. 

Portrait of Queen Hortense. 

Portrait of Madame de Staël. 

QUEEN HORTENSE. 

BOOK I. 

_DAYS OF CHILDHOOD AND OF THE REVOLUTION. _

CHAPTER I. 

DAYS OF CHILDHOOD. 

"One moment of bliss is not too dearly bought with death, " says ourgreat German poet, and he may be right; but a moment of bliss purchasedwith a long lifetime full of trial and suffering is far too costly. 

And when did it come for her, this "moment of bliss?" When couldHortense Beauharnais, in speaking of herself, declare, "I am happy? Now, let suffering and sorrow come upon me, if they will; I have tastedfelicity, and, in the memories it has left me, it is imperishableand eternal!"

Much, very much, had this daughter of an empress and mother of anemperor to endure. 

In her earliest youth she had been made familiar with misfortune andwith tears; and in her later life, as maiden, wife, and mother, she wasnot spared. 

A touchingly-beautiful figure amid the drama of the Napoleonic days wasthis gentle and yet high-spirited queen, who, when she had descendedfrom the throne and had ceased to be a sovereign, exhausted and weary oflife, found refuge at length in the grave, yet still survived among usas a queen--no longer, indeed, a queen of nations, but the Queenof Flowers. 

The flowers have retained their remembrance of Josephine's beautifuldaughter; they did not, like so many of her own race, deny her when shewas no longer the daughter of the all-powerful emperor, but merely thedaughter of the "exile. " Among the flowers the lovely Hortense continuedto live on, and Gavarni, the great poet of the floral realm, has rearedto her, as Hortensia, the Flower Queen, an enchanting monument, in his"_Fleurs Animées_. " Upon a mound of Hortensias rests the image of theQueen Hortense, and, in the far distance, like the limnings of ahalf-forgotten dream, are seen the towers and domes of Paris. Farther inthe foreground lies the grave of Hortense, with the carved likeness ofthe queenly sister of the flowers. Loneliness reigns around the spot, but above it, in the air, hovers the imperial eagle. The imperialmantle, studded with its golden bees, undulates behind him, like thetrain of a comet; the dark-red ribbon of the Legion of Honor, with thegolden cross, hangs around his neck, and in his beak he bears afull-blooming branch of the crown imperial. 

It is a page of world-renowned history that this charming picture ofGavarni's conjures up before us--an historical pageant that sweeps byus in wondrous fantastic forms of light and shadow, when we scan thelife of Queen Hortense with searching gaze, and meditate upon herdestiny. She had known all the grandeur and splendor of earth, and hadseen them all crumble again to dust. No, not all! Her ballads and poemsremain, for genius needs no diadem to be immortal. 

When Hortense ceased to be a queen by the grace of Napoleon, she nonethe less continued to be a poetess "by the grace of God. " Her poems aresympathetic and charming, full of tender plaintiveness and full ofimpassioned warmth, which, however, in no instance oversteps the boundsof womanly gentleness. Her musical compositions, too, are equallymelodious and attractive to the heart. Who does not know the song, "_Vat'en, Guerrier_, " which Hortense wrote and set to music, and then, atNapoleon's request, converted into a military march? The soldiers ofFrance once left their native land, in those days, to the sound of thismarch, to carry the French eagles to Russia; and to the same warlikeharmony they have marched forth more recently, toward the same distantdestination. This ballad, written by Hortense, survived. At one timeeverybody sang it, joyously, aloud. Then, when the Bourbons hadreturned, the scarred and crippled veterans of the _Invalides_ hummed itunder their breath, while they whispered secretly to each other of theglory of _La Belle France_, as of a beautiful dream of youth, nowgone forever. 

To-day, that song rings out with power again through France, and mountsin jubilee to the summit of the column on the Place Vendôme. The bronzevisage of the emperor seems to melt into a smile as these tremulousbillows of melody go sweeping around his brow, and the Hortensias on thequeen's grave raise dreamingly their heads of bloom, in which the dewsof heaven, or the tears of the departed one, glisten like rarest gems, and seem to look forth lovingly and listen to this ditty, which now forFrance has won so holy a significance--holy because it is themaster-chant of a religion which all men and all nations shouldrevere--the "religion of our memories. " Thus, this "_Va t'en, Guerrier_, " which France now sings, resounds over the grave of thequeen, like a salute of honor over the last resting-place of somebrave soldier. 

She had much to contend with--this hapless and amiable queen--but sheever proved firm, and ever retained one kind of courage that belongs towoman--the courage to smile through her tears. Her father perished onthe scaffold; her mother, the doubly-dethroned empress, died of a brokenheart; her step-father, the Emperor Napoleon, pined away, liked a cagedlion, on a lone rock in the sea! Her whole family--all the dethronedkings and queens--went wandering about as fugitives and pariahs, banished from their country, and scarcely wringing from the clemency ofthose to whom _they_ had been clement, a little spot of earth, where, far from the bustle and intercourse of the world, they might live inquiet obscurity, with their great recollections and their mightysorrows. Their past lay behind them, like a glittering fairy tale, which no one now believed; and only the present seemed, to men andnations, a welcome reality, which they, with envenomed stings, wereeager to brand upon the foreheads of the dethroned Napoleon race. 

Yet, despite all these sorrows and discouragements, Hortensia had themental strength not to hate her fellow-beings, but, on the contrary, toteach her children to love them and do good to them. The heart of thedethroned queen bled from a thousand wounds, but she did not allow thesewounds to stiffen into callousness, nor her heart to harden under thebroad scars of sorrow that had ceased to bleed. She cherished herbereavements and her wounds, and kept them open with her tears; but, even while she suffered measureless woes, it solaced her heart torelieve the woes and dry the tears of others. Thus was her life aconstant charity; and when she died she could, like the EmpressJosephine, say of herself, "I have wept much, but never have I madeothers weep. "

Hortense was the daughter of the Viscount de Beauharnais, who, againstthe wishes of his relatives, married the beautiful Josephine Tascher dela Pagerie, a young Creole lady of Martinique. This alliance, which lovealone had brought about, seemed destined, nevertheless, to no happyissue. While both were young, and both inexperienced, passionate, andjealous, both lacked the strength and energy requisite to restrain thewild impulses of their fiery temperaments within the cool and tranquilbounds of quiet married life. The viscount was too young to be notmerely a lover and tender husband, but also a sober counsellor andcautious instructor in the difficult after-day of life; and Josephinewas too innocent, too artless, too sportive and genial, to avoid allthose things that might give to the watchful and hostile family of herhusband an opportunity for ill-natured suspicions, which were whisperedin the viscount's ear as cruel certainties. It may readily be conceived, then, that such a state of things soon led to violent scenes and bittergrief. Josephine was too beautiful and amiable not to attract attentionand admiration wherever she went, and she was not yet _blasée_ andhackneyed enough to take no pleasure in the court thus paid to her, andthe admiration so universally shown her, nor even to omit doing her partto win them. But, while she was naive and innocent at heart, sherequired of her husband that these trifling outside coquetries shouldnot disquiet him nor render him distrustful, and that he should reposethe most unshaken confidence in her. Her pride revolted against hissuspicions, as did his jealousy against her seeming frivolity; and bothbecame quite willing, at last, to separate, notwithstanding the lovethey really bore each other at the bottom of their hearts, had not theirchildren rendered such a separation impossible. These children were ason, Eugene, and a daughter, Hortense, four years younger than the boy. Both parents loved these children with passionate tenderness; and oftenwhen one of the stormy scenes at which we have hinted took place in thepresence of the young people, an imploring word from Eugene or a caressfrom little Hortense would suffice to reconcile their father andmother, whose anger, after all, was but the result of excessiveattachment. 

But these domestic broils became more violent with time, and the momentarrived when Eugene was no longer there to stand by his little sister inher efforts to soothe the irritation of her parents. The viscount hadsent Eugene, who was now seven years of age, to a boarding-school; andlittle Hortense, quite disheartened by the absence of her brother, hadno longer the means or the courage to allay the quarrels that ragedbetween her parents, but would escape in terror and dismay, when theybroke out, to some lonely corner, and there weep bitterly over amisfortune, the extent of which her poor little childish heart could notyet estimate. 

In the midst of this gloomy and stormy period, the young viscountessreceived a letter from Martinique. It was from her mother, MadameTascher de la Pagerie, who vividly depicted to her daughter the terrorsof her lonely situation in her huge, silent residence, where there wasno one around her but servants and slaves, whose singularly altered andinsubordinate manner had, of late, alarmed the old lady, and filled herwith secret apprehensions for the future. She, therefore, besought herdaughter to come to her, and live with her, so that she might cheer thelast few years of her mother's existence with the bright presence of herdazzling youth. 

Josephine accepted this appealing letter from her mother as a hint fromdestiny; and, weary of her domestic wrangles, and resolved to end themforever, she took her little daughter, Hortense, then scarcely fouryears old, and with her sailed away from France, to seek beyond theocean and in her mother's arms the new happiness of undisturbedtranquillity. 

But, at that juncture, tranquillity had fled the world. The mutteringsand moanings of the impending tempest could be heard on all sides. Asubterranean rumbling was audible throughout all lands; a dullthundering and outcry, as though the solid earth were about to changeinto one vast volcano--one measureless crater--that would dash to atoms, and entomb, with its blazing lava-streams and fiery cinder-showers, thehappiness and peace of all humanity. And, finally, this terrific craterdid, indeed, open and hurl destruction and death on all sides, over thewhole world, uprooting, with demoniac fury, entire races and nations, and silencing the merry laugh and harmless jest with the overpoweringechoes of its awful voice!

This volcano was the revolution. In France, the first and most fearfulexplosion of this terrific crater occurred, but the whole world shookand heaved with it, and, on all sides, the furious masses from beneathoverflowed on the surface, seeking to reverse the order of things andplace the lowest where the highest had been. Even away in Martiniquethis social earthquake was felt, which had already, in France, flung outthe bloody guillotine from its relentless crater. This guillotine hadbecome the altar of the so-called enfranchisement of nations, and uponthis altar the intoxicated, unthinking masses offered up to their newidol those who, until then, had been their lords and masters, and bywhose death they now believed that they could purchase freedomfor evermore. 

"_Egalité! fraternité! liberté!_" Such was the battle-cry of thishowling, murdering populace. Such were the three words which burned inblood-red letters of fire above the guillotine, and their mocking emblemwas the glittering axe, that flashed down, to sever from their bodiesthe heads of the aristocrats whom, in spite of the new religionrepresented in those three words, they would not recognize as brethrenand equals, or admit to the freedom of life and of opinion. And thisbattle-cry of the murderous French populace had penetrated as far asMartinique, where it had aroused the slaves from their sullen obedienceto the point of demanding by force that participation in freedom, equality, and brotherhood, that had so long been denied them. They, atlast, rose everywhere in open insurrection against their masters, andthe firebrands which they hurled into the dwellings of the whites servedas the bridal torches to their espousal of liberty. 

The house of Madame Tascher de la Pagerie was one of the abodes in whichthese firebrands fell. 

One night Josephine was awakened by the blinding light of the flames, which had already penetrated to her chamber. With a shriek of terror, she sprang from her bed, caught up little Hortense in her arms from thecouch where the child lay quietly slumbering, wrapped her in thebedclothes, and rushed, in her night-attire, from the house. She burst, with the lion-like courage of a mother, through the shouting, fightingcrowds of soldiers and blacks outside, and fled, with all the speed ofmortal terror, toward the harbor. There lay a French vessel, just readyto weigh anchor. An officer, who at that moment was stepping into thesmall boat that was to convey him to the departing ship, saw this youngwoman, as, holding her child tightly to her bosom, she sank down, withone last despairing cry, half inanimate, upon the beach. Filled with thedeepest compassion, he hastened to her, and, raising both mother andchild in his arms, he bore them to his boat, which then instantly putout from land, and bounded away over the billows with its lovely burden. 

The ship was soon reached, and Josephine, still tightly clasping herchild to her breast, and happy in having saved this only jewel, climbedup the unsteady ladder to the ship's decks. Until this moment all herthoughts remained concentrated upon her child, and it was only when shehad seen her little Hortense safely put to bed in the cabin and freefrom all danger--only after she had fulfilled all the duties of amother, that the woman revived in her breast, and she cast shamed andfrightened glances around her. Only half-clad, in light, flutteringnight-clothes, without any other covering to her beautiful neck andbosom than her superb, luxuriant hair, which fell around her and partlyhid them, like a thick black veil, stood the young ViscountessJosephine de Beauharnais, in the midst of a group of gazing men!

However, some of the ladies on the ship came to her aid, and, so soon asher toilet had been sufficiently improved, Josephine eagerly requestedto be taken back to land, in order that she might fly to her mother'sassistance. 

But the captain opposed this request, as he was unwilling to give theyoung fugitive over to the tender mercies of the assassins who wereburning and massacring ashore, and whose murderous yells could bedistinctly heard on board of the vessel. The entire coast, so far as theeye could reach, looked like another sea--a sea, though, of flame andsmoke, which shot up its leaping billows in long tongues of fire faragainst the sky. It was a terrible, an appalling spectacle; andJosephine fled from it to the bedside of her little sleeping daughter. Then, kneeling there by the couch of her child, she uplifted to heavenher face, down which the tears were streaming, and implored God to spareher mother. 

But, meanwhile, the ship weighed anchor, and sped farther and fartheraway from this blazing coast. 

Josephine stood on the deck and gazed back at her mother's burning home, which gradually grew less to her sight, then glimmered only like a tinystar on the distant horizon, and finally vanished altogether. With thatlast ray her childhood and past life had sunk forever in the sea, and anew world and a new life opened for both mother and child. The past was, like the ships of Cortez, burned behind her; yet it threw a magic lightfar away over into her future, and as Josephine stood there with herlittle Hortense in her arms, and sent her last farewell to the islandwhere her early days had been spent, she bethought her of the oldmulatto-woman who had whispered in her ear one day:

"You will go back to France, and, ere long after that, all France willbe at your feet. You will be greater there than a queen. "

CHAPTER II. 

THE PROPHECY. 

It was toward the close of the year 1790 that Josephine, with her littledaughter, Hortense, arrived in Paris and took up her residence in asmall dwelling. There she soon received the intelligence of the rescueof her mother, and of the re-establishment of peace in Martinique. InFrance, however, the revolution and the guillotine still raged, and thebanner of the Reign of Terror--the red flag--still cast its bloodyshadow over Paris. Its inhabitants were terror-stricken; no one knew inthe evening that he would still be at liberty on the following day, orthat he would live to see another sunset. Death lay in wait at everydoor, and reaped its dread harvest in every house and in every family. In the face of these horrors, Josephine forgot all her earlier griefs, all the insults and humiliations to which she had been subjected by herhusband; the old love revived in her breast, and, as it might well bethat on the morrow death would come knocking at her own door, she wishedto devote the present moment to a reconciliation with her husband, and areunion with her son. 

But all her attempts in this direction were in vain. The viscount hadfelt her flight to Martinique to be too grave an injury, too great aninsult, to be now willing to consent to a reconciliation with his wife. Sympathizing friends arranged a meeting between them, without, however, previously informing the viscount of their design. His anger wastherefore great when, on entering the parlor of Count Montmorin, inresponse to that gentleman's invitation, he found there the wife he hadso obstinately and wrathfully avoided. He was about to retire hastily, when a charming child rushed forward, greeted him tenderly in silverytones, and threw herself into his arms. The viscount was now powerlessto fly; he pressed his child, his Hortense, to his heart, and when thechild, with a winning smile, entreated him to kiss her mamma as he hadkissed her; when he saw the beautiful countenance of Josephine wet withtears; when he heard his father's voice saying, "My son, reconcileyourself with my daughter! Josephine is my daughter, and I would notcall her so if she were unworthy, " and when he saw his handsome son, Eugene, gazing at him wistfully, his head resting on his mother'sshoulder, his heart relented. Leading little Hortense by the hand, hestepped forward to his wife, and, with a loud cry of joy and a blissfulgreeting of love, Josephine sank on his bosom. 

Peace was re-established, and husband and wife were now united in acloser bond of love than ever before. The storms seemed to have spenttheir rage, and the heaven of their happiness was clear and cloudless. But this heaven was soon to be overcast with the black shadow of therevolution. 

Viscount Beauharnais, returned by the nobility of Blois to the newlegislative body, the Estates-General, resigned this position, in orderto serve his country with his sword instead of his tongue. With the rankof adjutant-general, he repaired to the Army of the North, accompaniedby Josephine's blessings and tears. A dread premonition told her thatshe would never see the general again, and this premonition did notdeceive her. The spirit of anarchy and insurrection not only raged amongthe people of Paris, but also in the army. The aristocrats, who weregiven over to the guillotine in Paris, were also regarded with distrustand hatred in the army, and Viscount Beauharnais, who, for his gallantryon the battle-field of Soissons, had been promoted to the position ofcommanding general, was accused by his own officers of being an enemy ofFrance and of the new order of things. He was arrested, taken back toParis, and thrown into the prison of the Luxembourg, where so many othervictims of the revolution lay in confinement. 

The sad intelligence of her husband's misfortune soon reached Josephine, and aroused her love to energetic action in his behalf. She mentallyvowed to liberate her husband, the father of her children, or to diewith him. She courageously confronted all dangers, all suspicions, andwas happy when she found him in his prison, where she visited him, whispering words of consolation and hope in his ear. 

But at that time love and fidelity were also capital crimes, andJosephine's guilt was twofold: first, because she was an aristocratherself, and secondly, because she loved and wept for the fate of anaristocrat, and an alleged traitor to his country. Josephine wasarrested and thrown into the prison of St. Pelagie. 

Eugene and Hortense were now little better than orphans, for theprisoners of the Luxembourg and St. Pelagie, at that time, only lefttheir prisons to mount the scaffold. Alone, deprived of all help, avoided by all whom they had once known and loved, the two children werethreatened with misery, want, and even with hunger, for the estate oftheir parents had been confiscated, and, in the same hour in whichJosephine was conducted to prison, the entrances and doors of theirdwelling were sealed, and the poor children left to find a shelteringroof for themselves. But yet they were not entirely helpless, not quitefriendless, for a friend of Josephine, a Madame Ho1stein, had thecourage to come to the rescue, and take the children into herown family. 

But it was necessary to go to work cautiously and wisely, in order toavoid exciting the hatred and vengeance of those who, coming from thescum of the people, were now the rulers of France. An imprudent word, alook, might suffice to cast suspicion upon, and render up to theguillotine, this good Madame Ho1stein, this courageous friend of the twochildren. It was in itself a capital crime that she had taken thechildren of the accused into her house, and it was therefore necessaryto adopt every means of conciliating the authorities. It was thoughtnecessary that Hortense should, in company with her protectress, attendthe festivals and patriotic processions, that were renewed at everydecade in honor of the one and indivisible republic, but she was neverrequired to take an active part in these celebrations. She was notconsidered worthy to figure among the daughters of the people; she hadnot yet been forgiven for being the daughter of a viscount, of animprisoned _ci-devant. _ Eugene had been apprenticed to a carpenter, andthe son of the viscount was now often seen walking through the streetsin a blouse, carrying a board on his shoulder or a saw under his arm. 

While the children of the accused were thus enjoying temporary security, the future of their parents was growing darker and darker, and not onlythe life of the general, but also that of his wife, was now seriouslyendangered. Josephine had been removed from the prison of St. Pelagie tothat of the Carmelites, and this brought her a step nearer the scaffold. But she did not tremble for herself, she thought only of her childrenand her husband; she wrote affectionate letters to the former, which shebribed her jailer to forward to their destination, but all her effortsto place herself in communication with her husband were abortive. Oneday she received the fearful intelligence that her husband had just beenconducted before the revolutionary tribunal. Josephine waited forfurther intelligence in an agony of suspense. Had this tribunalacquitted her husband, or had it condemned him to death? Was he alreadyfree, or was he free in a higher sense--was he dead? If he were free, hewould have found means to inform her of the fact; and if he were dead, his name would certainly have been mentioned in the list of thecondemned. In this agony of suspense, Josephine passed the long day. Night came, but brought no rest for her and her companions inmisery--the other occupants of the prison--who also looked death in theface, and who watched with her throughout the long night. 

The society assembled in this prison was brilliant and select. Therewere the Dowager Duchess de Choiseul, the Viscountess de Maille, whoseseventeen-years-old daughter had just been guillotined; there was theMarquise de Créqui, the intellectual lady who has often been called thelast marquise of the _ancien régime_, and who in her witty memoirs wrotethe French history of the eighteenth century as viewed from anaristocratic standpoint. There was Abbé Téxier, who, when therevolutionists threatened him with the lantern, because he had refusedto take the oath of allegiance to the new constitution, replied: "Willyou see any better after having hung me to the lantern?" And there wasyet another, a M. Duvivier, a pupil of Cagliostro, who, like hismaster, could read the future, and with the assistance of a decanterfull of water and a "dove, " that is, an innocent young girl of less thanseven, could solve the mysteries of fate. 

To him, to the Grand Cophta, Josephine now addressed herself after thisday of dread uncertainty, and demanded information of the fate ofher husband. 

In the stillness of the night the gloomy, desolate hall of the prisonnow presented a strange aspect. The jailer, bribed with an assignat offifty francs, then worth only forty sous, however, had consented thathis little six-years-old daughter should serve the Grand Cophta as"dove, " and had made all other preparations. A table stood in the middleof the hall, on which was a decanter filled with clear, fresh water, around which were three candles in the form of a triangle, and placed asnear the decanter as possible, in order that the dove should be able tosee the better. The little girl, just aroused from sleep and broughtfrom her bed in her night-gown, sat on a chair close to the table, andbehind her stood the earnest, sombre figure of the Grand Cophta. Aroundthe table stood the prisoners, these duchesses and marquises, theseladies of the court of Versailles who had preserved their aristocraticmanners in the prison, and were even here so strictly observant ofetiquette, that those of them who had enjoyed the honor of the_tabouret_ in the Tuileries, were here accorded the same precedence, andall possible consideration shown them. 

On the other side of the table, in breathless suspense, her large, darkeyes fastened on the child with a touching expression, stood the unhappyJosephine, and, at some distance behind the ladies, the jailer withhis wife. 

Now the Grand Cophta laid both hands on the child's head and cried in aloud voice, "Open your eyes and look!"

The child turned pale and shuddered as it fixed its gaze on thedecanter. 

"What do you see?" asked the Grand Cophta, "I want you to look into theprison of General Beauharnais. What do you see?"

"I see a little room, " said the child with vivacity. "On a cot lies ayoung man who sleeps; at his side stands another man, writing on a sheetof paper that lies on a large book. "

"Can you read?"

"No, citizen. Now the man cuts off his hair, and folds it in the paper. "

"The one who sleeps?"

"No, the one who was just now writing. He is now writing something onthe back of the paper in which he wrapped the hair; now he opens alittle red pocket-book, and takes papers out of it; they are assignats, he counts them and then puts them back in the pocket-book. Now he risesand walks softly, softly. "

"What do you mean by softly? You have not heard the slightest noise asyet, have you?"

"No, but he walks through the room on tiptoe. "

"What do you see now?"

"He now covers his face with his hands and seems to be weeping. "

"But what did he do with his pocket-book?"

"Ah, he has put the pocket book and the package with the hair in thepocket of the coat that lies on the sleeping man's bed. "

"Of what color is this coat?"

"I cannot see, exactly; it is red or brown, lined with blue silk andcovered with shining buttons. "

"That will do, " said the Grand Cophta; "you can go to bed, child. "

He stooped down over the child and breathed on her forehead. The littlegirl seemed to awaken as from a trance, and hurried to her parents, wholed her from the hall. 

"General Beauharnais still lives!" said the Grand Cophta, addressingJosephine. 

"Yes, he still lives, " cried she, sadly, "but he is preparing fordeath[1]. "

[Footnote 1: This scene is exactly as represented by the Marquise deCréqui, who was present and relates it in her memoirs, vol. Vi. , p. 238. ]

Josephine was right. A few days later Duchess d'Anville received apackage and a letter. It was sent to her by a prisoner in La Force, named De Legrois. He had occupied the same cell with General Beauharnaisand had found the package and the letter, addressed to the duchess, inhis pocket on the morning of the execution of the general. 

In this letter the general conjured Duchess D'Anville to deliver toJosephine the package which contained his hair and his last adieus towife and children. 

This was the only inheritance which General Beauharnais could bequeathto his Josephine and her unhappy children!

Josephine was so agitated by the sight of her husband's hair and hislast fond words of adieu, that she fainted away, a stream of bloodgushing from her mouth. 

Her companions in misfortune vied with each other in giving her the mosttender attention, and demanded of the jailer that a physician shouldbe called. 

"Why a physician!" said the man, indifferently. "Death is the bestphysician. He called the general to-day; in a few days he will restoreto him his wife. "

This prophecy was almost verified. Josephine, scarcely recovered fromher illness, received her citation from the Tribunal of Terror. This wasthe herald of certain death, and she courageously prepared for thegrave, troubled only by thoughts of the children she must leave behind. 

A fortunate and unforeseen occurrence saved her. The men of therevolution had now attained the summit of their power, and, as there wasno standing still for them, they sank into the abyss which themselveshad digged. 

The fall of Robespierre opened the prisons and set at liberty thousandsof the already condemned victims of the revolution. 

Viscountess Josephine left her prison; she was restored to liberty, andcould now hasten to her children, but she came back to them as a poorwidow, for the seals of the "one and indivisible republic" were on hersand her children's property as well as on that of all other aristocrats. 

CHAPTER III. 

CONSEQUENCES OF THE REVOLUTION. 

France drew a breath of relief; the Reign of Terror was at an end, and amilder and more moderate government wielded the sceptre over the poorland that had so lately lain in the agonies of death. It was no longer acapital offence to bear an aristocratic name, to be better dressed thanthe _sans-culottes_, to wear no Jacobin-cap, and to be related to theemigrants. The guillotine, which had ruled over Paris during two yearsof blood and tears, now rested from its horrid work, and allowed theParisians to think of something else besides making their wills andpreparing for death. 

Mindful of the uncertainty of the times, the people were disposed tomake the most of this release from the fear of immediate death, and toenjoy themselves to the utmost while they could. 

They had so long wept, that they eagerly desired to laugh once more; solong lived in sorrow and fear, that they now ardently longed foramusement and relaxation. The beautiful women of Paris, who had beendethroned by the guillotine, and from whose hands the reins had beentorn, now found the courage to grasp these reins again, and reconquerthe position from which the storm-wind of the revolution hadhurled them. 

Madame Tallien, the all-powerful wife of one of the five directors whonow swayed the destinies of France; Madame Récamier, the friend of allthe eminent and distinguished men of that period; and Madame de Staël, the daughter of Necker, and the wife of the ambassador of Sweden, whosegovernment had recognized the republic--these three ladies gave to Parisits drawing-rooms, its reunions, its _fêtes_, its fashions, and itsluxury. All Paris had assumed a new form, and, although the Church hadnot yet again obtained official recognition, the belief in a SupremeBeing was already re-established. Robespierre had already been boldenough to cause the inscription, "There is a Supreme Being, " to beplaced over the altars of the churches that had been converted into"Temples of Reason. " Yes, there is a Supreme Being; and Robespierre, whohad first acknowledged its existence, was soon to experience in himselfthat such was the case. Betrayed by his own associates, and charged bythem with desiring to make himself dictator, and place himself at thehead of the new Roman-French Republic as a new Caesar, Robespierre fella prey to the Tribunal of Terror which he himself had called intoexistence. While engaged in the Hôtel de Ville in signingdeath-sentences which were to furnish fresh victims to the guillotine, he was arrested by the Jacobins and National Guards, who had stormedthe gates and penetrated into the building, and the attempt to blow outhis brains with his pistol miscarried. Bleeding, his jaw shattered bythe bullet, he was dragged before Fouquier-Tainville to receive hissentence, and to be conducted thence to the scaffold. In order that theproceeding should be attended with all formalities, he was, however, first conducted to the Tuileries, where the Committee of Public Safetywas then sitting in the chamber of Queen Marie Antoinette. Into thebedchamber of the queen whom Robespierre had brought to the scaffold, the bleeding, half-lifeless dictator was now dragged. Like a bundle ofrags he was contemptuously thrown on the large table that stood in themiddle of the room. But yesterday Robespierre had been enthroned at thistable as almighty ruler over the lives and possessions of all Frenchmen;but yesterday he had here issued his decrees and signed thedeath-sentences, that lay on the table, unexecuted. These papers werenow the only salve the ghastly, groaning man could apply to the wound inhis face, from which blood poured in streams. The death-sentences signedby himself now drank his own blood, and he had nothing but a rag of atricolor, thrown him by a compassionate _sans-culotte_, with which tobind up the great, gaping wound on his head. As he sat there in themidst of the blood-saturated papers, bleeding, groaning, andcomplaining, an old National Guard, with outstretched arms, pointing tothis ghastly object, cried: "Yes, Robespierre was right. There is aSupreme Being!"

This period of blood and terror was now over; Robespierre was dead;Théroigne de Méricourt was no longer the Goddess of Reason, andMademoiselle Maillard no longer Goddess of Liberty and Virtue. Women hadgiven up representing divinities, and desired to be themselves again, and to rebuild in the drawing-rooms of the capital, by means of theirintellect and grace, the throne which had gone down in the revolution. 

Madame Tallien, Madame Récamier, and Madame de Staël, reorganizedsociety, and all were anxious to obtain admission to their parlors. Tobe sure, these entertainments and reunions still wore a sufficientlystrange and fantastic appearance. Fashion, which had so long beencompelled to give way to the _carmagnole_ and red cap, endeavored toavenge its long banishment by all manner of caprices and humors, and indoing so assumed a political, reactionary aspect. _Coiffures à laJacobine_ were now supplanted by _coiffures à la victime_ and _aurepentir_. In order to exhibit one's taste for the fine arts, thedraperies of the statues of Greece and ancient Rome were now worn. Grecian _fêtes_ were given, at which the black soup of Lycurgus was dulyhonored, and Roman feasts which, in splendor and extravagance, rivalledthose of Lucullus. These Roman feasts were particularly in vogue at thepalace of Luxembourg, where the directors of the republic had now takenup their residence, and where Madame Tallien exhibited to the new Frenchsociety the new wonders of luxury and fashion. Too proud to wear thegenerally-adopted costume of the Grecian republic, Madame Tallien chosethe attire of the Roman patrician lady; and the gold-embroidered purplerobes, and the golden tiara in her black, shining hair, gave to thecharming and beautiful daughter of the republic the magnificence of anempress. She had also drawn around her a splendid court. All eagerlypressed forward to pay their respects to and obtain the good will of themighty wife of the mighty Tallien. Her house was the great point ofattraction to all those who occupied prominent positions in Paris, oraspired to such. While in the parlors of Madame Récamier, who, despitethe revolution, had remained a zealous royalist, the past and the goodtime of the Bourbons were whispered of, and witty and often sanguinary_bon mots_ at the expense of the republic uttered--while in Madame deStaël's parlors art and science had found an asylum--Madame Tallien andcourt lived for the present, and basked in the splendor with which sheknew how to invest the palace of the dictators of France. 

In the mean while, Viscountess Josephine Beauharnais had been living, with her children, in quiet retirement, a prey to sad memories. A daycame, however, when she was compelled to tear herself from this lastconsolation of the unhappy, the brooding over the sorrows and losses ofthe past, or see her children become the victims of misery and want. Thetime had come when she must leave her retirement, and step, as apetitioner, before those who had the power to grant, as a favor, thatwhich was hers by right, and restore to her, at least in part, hersequestered estate. Josephine had known Madame Tallien when she wasstill Madame de Fontenay, and it now occurred to her that she mightassist her in her attempt to recover the inheritance of her father. Madame Tallien, the "Merveilleuse de Luxembourg, " also called by heradmirers, "Notre-dame de Thermidor, " felt much nattered at being calledon by a real viscountess, who had filled a distinguished position at thecourt of King Louis. She therefore received her with great amiability, and endeavored to make the charming and beautiful viscountess herfriend. But Josephine found that estates were more easily lost thanrecovered. The republic, one and indivisible, was always ready to take, but not to give; and, even with the kindly offices of Madame Tallienfreely exerted in her behalf, it was some time before Josephinesucceeded in recovering her estate. In the mean time, she reallysuffered want, and she and her children were compelled to bear thehardships and mortifications which poverty brings in its train. But truefriends still remained to her in her misery; friends who, with truedelicacy, furnished her with the prime necessities of life--with foodand clothing for herself and children. In general, it was characteristicof this period that no one felt humiliated by accepting benefits of thiskind from his friends. Those who had lost all had not done so throughtheir own fault; and those who had saved their property out of thegeneral wreck could not attribute their fortune to their own merit orwisdom, but merely to chance. They therefore considered it a sacredduty to divide with those who had been less fortunate; and the latterwould point with pride to the poverty which proved that they had beentrue to themselves and principle, and accept what friendship offered. This was the result of a kind of community of property, to which therevolution had given birth. Those who had possessions considered ittheir duty to divide with those who had not, and the latter regardedthis division rather as a right than as a benefit conferred. 

Josephine could, therefore, accept the assistance of her friends withoutblushing; she could, with propriety, allow Madame de Montmorin toprovide for the wardrobe of herself and daughter; and she and Hortensecould accept the invitation of Madame Dumoulin to dine with her twice aweek. There, at Madame Dumoulin's, were assembled, on certain days, anumber of friends, who had been robbed of their fortunes by the stormsof the revolution. Madame Dumoulin, the wife of a rich army-contractor, gave these dinners to her friends, but each guest was expected to bringwith him his own white-bread. White-bread was, at that time, consideredone of the greatest dainties; for, there being a scarcity of grain, alaw had been proclaimed allotting to each section of Paris a certainamount of bread, and providing that no individual should be entitled topurchase more than two ounces daily. It had, therefore, become thegeneral custom to add the following to all invitations: "You arerequested to bring your white bread with you, " for the reason that nomore than the allotted two ounces could be had for money, and thatamount cost the purchaser dearly[2]. Josephine, however, had not eventhe money to buy the portion allowed her by law. An exception to thisrule was, however, made in favor of Josephine and Hortense; and atMadame Dumoulin's dinners the hostess always provided white bread forthem, and for them alone of all her guests. Viscountess Beauharnais wassoon, however, to be freed from this want. One day when she had beeninvited by Madame Tallien to dinner, and had walked to the palace withHortense, Tallien informed her that the government had favorablyconsidered her petition, and was willing to make some concessions to thewidow of a true patriot who had sealed his devotion to principle withhis blood; that he had procured an ordinance from the administration ofdomains, pursuant to which the seals were at once to be removed from herfurniture and other personal property, and that the republic hadremitted to her, through him, an order on the treasury for her relief, until the sequestration of her landed estates should be annulled, whichhe expected would soon take place. 

[Footnote 2: Mémoires de Monsieur de Bourrienne sur Napoleon, etc. , Vol. I. , p. 80. ]

Josephine found no words in which to express her thanks. She pressed herdaughter to her heart and cried out, her face bathed in tears: "We shallat last be happy! My children shall no longer suffer want!" This timethe tears Josephine shed were tears of joy, the first in long years. 

Care and want were now over. Josephine could now give her children aneducation suitable to their rank; she could now once more assume theposition in society to which her beauty, youth, amiability, and nameentitled her. She no longer came to Madame Tallien's parlor as asuppliant, she was now its ornament, and all were eager to do homage tothe adored friend of Madame Tallien, to the beautiful and charmingviscountess. But Josephine preferred the quiet bliss of home-life in thecircle of her children to the brilliant life of society; she graduallywithdrew from the noisy circles of the outer world, in order that shemight, in peaceful retirement, devote herself to the cultivation of thehearts and minds of her promising children. 

Eugene was now a youth of sixteen years, and, as his personal securityno longer required him to deny his name and rank, he had left hismaster's carpenter-shop, and laid aside his blouse. He was preparinghimself for military service under the instruction of excellentteachers, whom he astonished by his zeal and rare powers ofcomprehension. The military renown and heroic deeds of France filled himwith enthusiasm; and one day, while speaking with his teacher of thedeeds of Turenne, Eugene exclaimed with sparkling eyes and glowingcountenance: "I too will become a gallant general, some day!"

Hortense, now a girl of twelve years, lived with her mother, who wasscarcely thirty years old, in the sweet companionship of an elder andyounger sister. They were inseparable companions; Nature had givenHortense beauty with a lavish hand; her mother gave to this beautygrace and dignity. Competent teachers instructed her daughter'sintellect, while the mother cultivated her heart. Early accustomed tocare and want, this child had not the giddy, thoughtless dispositionusually characteristic of girls of her age. She had too early gained aninsight into the uncertainty and emptiness of all earthly magnificence, not to appreciate the littleness of those things upon which young girlsusually place so high an estimate. Her thoughts were not occupied withthe adornment of her person, and she did not bend her young head beneaththe yoke of capricious fashion: for her, there were higher and noblerenjoyments, and Hortense was never happier than when her motherdispensed with her attendance at the entertainments at the house ofMadame Tallien or Madame Barras, and permitted her to remain at home, toamuse herself with her books and harp in a better and more useful, ifnot in a more agreeable manner, than she could have done in thebrilliant parlors to which her mother had repaired. Early matured in theschool of experience and suffering, the girl of twelve had acquired awomanly earnestness and resolution, and yet her noble and chastefeatures still wore the impress of childhood, and in her large blue eyesreposed a whole heaven of innocence and peace. When she sat with herharp at the window in the evening twilight, the last rays of the settingsun gilding her sweet countenance, and surrounding as with a halo herbeautiful blond hair, Josephine imagined she saw before her one of thoseangel-forms of innocence and love which the poet and painter portray. In a kind of trance she listened to the sweet sounds and melodies whichHortense lured from her harp, and accompanied with the silvery tones ofher voice, in words composed by herself, half-childish prayer, halfrhapsody of love, and revealing the most secret thoughts of the fairyoung being who stood on the threshold of womanhood, bidding adieu tochildhood with a blissful smile, and dreaming of the future. 

CHAPTER IV. 

GENERAL BUONAPARTE. 

While Josephine de Beauharnais, after the trials of these long andstormy years, was enjoying blissful days of quiet happiness and repose, the gusts of revolution kept bursting forth from time to time in fits offury, and tranquillity continued far from being permanently restored. The clubs, those hot-beds of the revolution, still exercised theirpestilential influence over the populace of Paris, and stirred the rudemasses incessantly to fresh paroxysms of discontent and disorder. 

But already the man had been found who was to crush those wild masses inhis iron grasp, and dash the speakers of the clubs down into the dustwith the flashing master-glance of his resistless eye. 

That man was Napoleon Buonaparte. He was hardly twenty-nine years ofage, yet already all France was talking him as a hero crowned withlaurels, already had he trodden a brilliant career of victory. Ascommander of a battalion he had performed prodigies of valor at therecapture of Toulon; and then, after being promoted to the rank ofgeneral, had gone to the army in Italy on behalf of the republic. Bedecked with the laurels of his Italian campaign, the young general offive-and-twenty had returned to France. There, the government, beingstill hostile and ill-disposed toward him, wished to remove him fromParis, and send him to La Vendée as a brigadier-general. Buonapartedeclined this mission, because he preferred remaining in the artilleryservice, and, for that reason, the government of the republic relievedhim of his duties and put him on half-pay. 

So, Buonaparte remained in Paris and waited. He waited for the brilliantstar that was soon to climb the firmament for him, and shed the fulnessof its rays over the whole world. Perhaps, the secret voices whichwhispered in his breast of a dazzling future, and a fabulous career ofmilitary glory, had already announced the rising of his star. 

So Buonaparte lived on in Paris, and waited. He there passed quiet, retired, and inactive days, associating with a few devoted friends only, who aided him, with delicate tact, in his restricted circumstances. ForBuonaparte was poor; he had lost his limited means in the tempests ofthe revolution, and all that he possessed consisted of the laurels hehad won on the battle-field, and his half pay as a brigadier-general. But, like the Viscountess de Beauharnais, Napoleon had some true friendswho deemed it an honor to receive him as a guest at their table, andalso, like Josephine, he was too poor to bring his wheaten loaf with himto the dinners that he attended, as was then the prevailing custom. Heoften dined, in company with his brother Louis, at the house of hisboyhood's friend Bourrienne, and his future secretary was at that timestill his host, favored of the gods. The young general, instead of, likehis brother, bringing his wheaten loaf, brought only his ration, whichwas rye-bread, and this he always abandoned to his brother Louis, whowas very fond of it, while Madame Bourrienne took care that he shouldinvariably find his supply of white, bread at his plate. She had managedto get some flour smuggled into Paris from her husband's estate, and hadwhite-bread made of it secretly, at the pastry-cook's. Had this beendiscovered, it would inevitably have prepared the way for all of them tothe scaffold. 

Thus, then, young General Buonaparte, or, as he subsequently wrote thename himself, "Bonaparte, " passed quiet days of expectation, hopingthat, should the existing government, so hostile to him, be suppressedby another, his wishes might be at last fulfilled. These wishes were, bythe way, of a rather unpretending character. "If I could only live herequietly, at Paris, " he once remarked to his friend Bourrienne, "and rentthat pretty little house yonder, opposite to my friends, and keep acarriage besides, I should be the happiest of men!"

He was quite seriously entertaining the idea of renting the "prettylittle house" in common with his uncle Fesch afterward the cardinal, when the important events that soon shook Paris once more prevented him, and the famous 13th Vendémiaire, 1795, again summoned the famous generalaway from his meditations to stern practical activity. It was on thatday, the 13th Vendémiaire (October 5th), that there came the outburst ofthe storm, the subterranean rumblings of which had been so longperceptible. The sections of Paris rose against the National Conventionwhich had given France a new constitution, and so fixed it that twothirds of the members of the Convention should reappear in the newlegislative body. The sections of Paris, however, were prepared toaccept the new constitution only when it provided that the legislativebody should spring from fresh elections entirely. The Convention, thusassailed in its ambitious hankering for power, was resolved to stand itsground, and called upon the representatives who commanded the armedforces, to defend the republic of their creation. Barras was appointedthe first general commanding the Army of the Interior, and Bonaparte thesecond. It was not long before a ferocious conflict broke out in thestreets between the army and the insurgent sections. At that time thepopulace were not always so ready, as they have been since then, to tearup the pavements for barricades, and the revolters, put to flight by theterrible fire and the fierce onset of the artillery, made the Church ofSt. Roch and the Palais Royal their defensive points; but they weredriven from them also; the struggle in the streets recommenced, andstreams of blood had to flow ere it was over. 

After the lapse of two days order was restored, and Barras declared tothe triumphant National Convention that the victory over the insurgentswas chiefly due to the comprehensive and gallant conduct of GeneralBonaparte. 

The National Convention, as a token of gratitude, conferred upon thelatter the permanent position of second general of the Army of theInterior, which had been allotted to him temporarily, only on the day ofperil. From that moment, Bonaparte emerged from obscurity; his name hadrisen above the horizon!

He now had a position, and he could better comprehend the whisperingvoices that sang within his bosom the proud, triumphant song of hisfuture career. He was now already conscious that he had a shining goalbefore his gaze--a goal to which he dared not yet assign a title, thatflitted about him like a dazzling fairy tale, and which he swore to makereality at last. 

One day, there came to the headquarters of the young general-in-chief ayoung man who very pressingly asked to see him. Bonaparte had himadmitted, and the dignified form, the courageous, fiery glance, thenoble, handsome countenance of the stranger, at once prepossessed him inthe young man's favor, and he forthwith questioned him in gentle, friendly tones, concerning the object of his visit. 

"General, " said the young man, "my name is Eugene Beauharnais, and Ihave served the republic on the Rhine. My father was denounced beforethe Committee of Public Safety as a _suspect_, and given over to theRevolutionary Tribunal, who had him murdered, three days before the fallof Robespierre. "

"Murdered!" exclaimed Bonaparte, in threatening tones. 

"Yes, general, murdered!" repeated Eugene, with resolution. "I come nowto request, in the name of my mother, that you will have the kindness tobring your influence to bear upon the committee, to induce them to giveme back my father's sword. I will faithfully use it in fighting theenemies of my country and defending the cause of the republic. "

These proud and noble words called up a gentle, kindly smile to thestern, pale face of the young general, and the fiery flash of his eyesgrew softer. 

"Good! young man, very good!" he said. "I like this spirit, and thisfilial tenderness. The sword of your father--the sword of GeneralBeauharnais--shall be restored to you. Wait!"

With this, he called one of his adjutants, and gave him the necessarycommands. A short time only had elapsed, when the adjutant returned, bringing with him the sword of General Beauharnais. 

Bonaparte himself handed it to Eugene. The young overwhelmed with strongemotion, pressed the weapon--the sole, dear possession of his father--tohis lips and to his heart, and tears of sacred emotion started intohis eyes. 

Instantly the general stepped to his side, and his slender white hand, which knew so well how to wield the sword, and yet was as soft, asdelicate, and as transparent as the hand of a duchess, rested lightly onEugene's shoulder. 

"My young friend, " said he, in that gentle tone which won all hearts tohim, "I should be very happy could I do anything for you oryour family. "

Eugene gazed at him with an expression of childish amazement. "Goodgeneral!" he managed to say; "then mamma and my sister will prayfor you. "

This ingenuousness made the general smile; and, with a friendly nod, hedesired Eugene to offer his respects to his mother, and to call upon himsoon again. 

This meeting of Eugene and General Bonaparte was the commencement of theacquaintanceship between Bonaparte and Josephine. The sword of theguillotined General Beauharnais placed an imperial crown upon the headof his widow, and adorned the brows of his son and his daughter withroyal diadems. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE MARRIAGE. 

A few days after this interview between Bonaparte and Eugene, Josephinemet Bonaparte at one of the brilliant _soirées_ given by Barras, thefirst general-in-chief. She asked Barras to introduce her to the younggeneral, and then, in her usual frank manner, utterly the opposite ofall prudery, yet none the less delicate and decorous, extending her handto Bonaparte, she thanked him, with the tender warmth of a mother, forthe friendliness and kindness he had manifested to her son. 

The general looked with wondering admiration at this young and beautifulwoman, who claimed to be the mother of a lad grown up to manhood. Herenchanting face beamed with youth and beauty, and a sea of warmth andpassion streamed from her large, dark eyes, while the gentle, love-enticing smile that played around her mouth revealed the tenderfeminine gentleness and amiability of her disposition. Bonaparte hadnever mastered the art of flattering women in the light, frivolous styleof the fashionable coxcomb; and when he attempted it his complimentswere frequently of so unusual and startling a character that they mightjust as well contain an affront as a tribute of eulogy. 

"Ah! ah! How striking that looks!" he once said, while he was emperor, to the charming Duchess de Chevreuse. "What remarkable red hairyou have!"

"Possibly so, sire, " she replied, "but this is the first time that aman ever told me so. "

And the duchess was right; for her hair was not red, but of a veryhandsome blond[3]. 

[Footnote 3: The Duchess de Chevreuse was shortly afterward banished toTours, because she refused to serve us a lady of honor to the Queenof Spain. ]

To another lady, whose round, white arms pleased him, he once said: "Ah, good Heavens, what red arms you have!" Then, again, to another: "Whatbeautiful hair you have; but what an ugly head-dress that is! Who couldhave put it up for you in such ridiculous style?"

Bonaparte, as I have said, did not know how to compliment women withwords; but Josephine well understood the flattering language that hiseyes addressed to her. She knew that she had, in that very hour, conquered the bold young lion, and she felt proud and happy at thethought; for the unusually imposing appearance of the young hero hadawakened her own heart, which she had thought was dead, to livelierpalpitations. 

From that time forth they saw each other more frequently, and, ere long, Josephine heard from Bonaparte's own lips the glowing confession of hislove. She reciprocated it, and promised him her hand. In vain herpowerful friends, Tallien and Barras, endeavored to dissuade her frommarrying this young, penniless general; in vain did they remind her thathe might be killed in the very next battle, and that she might thusagain be left a reduced widow. Josephine shook her handsome curls witha peculiar smile. Perhaps she was thinking of the prophecy of thenegress at Martinique; perhaps she had read in the fiery glances ofBonaparte's eye, and on his broad, thoughtful brow, that he might be thevery man to bring that prophecy to its consummation; perhaps she lovedhim ardently enough to prefer an humble lot, when shared with him, toany richer or more brilliant alliance. The representations of herfriends did not frighten her away, and she remained firm in herdetermination to become the wife of the young general, poor as he was. Their wedding-day was fixed, and both hastened with joyous impatience tomake their modest little preparations for their new housekeepingestablishment. Yet Bonaparte had not been able to complete his dream ofhappiness; he possessed neither house nor carriage, and Josephine, too, was without an equipage. 

Thus both of them often had to content themselves with going on footthrough the streets, and it may be that, in this halcyon period of theirfelicity, they regarded the circumstance rather as a favor than as ascurvy trick of Fortune. Their tender and confidential communicationswere not disturbed by the loud rattle of the wheels, and they were notobliged to interrupt their sweet interchange of sentiment while gettinginto and out of a vehicle. Arm-in-arm, they strolled together along thepromenades, he smiling proudly when the passers-by broke out inspontaneous exclamations of delight at Josephine's beauty, and she happyand exultant as she overheard the whispered admiration and respect withwhich the multitude everywhere greeted Bonaparte, as she pressed withthe general through the throng. 

One day, Bonaparte accompanied the viscountess on a visit to Ragideau, the smallest man but the greatest lawyer in Paris. He had been thebusiness attorney of the Beauharnais family for a long time, andJosephine now wished to withdraw from his hands, for her own disposal, asum of money belonging to her that had been deposited with him. Bonaparte remained in the anteroom while Josephine went into theadjoining apartment, which was Ragideau's office. 

"I have come to tell you that I am going to marry again, " saidJosephine, with her winning smile, to Ragideau. 

The little attorney gave a friendly nod, as he replied: "You do well, and I congratulate you with all my heart, viscountess, for I amsatisfied that you have made no other than a worthy choice. "

"Undoubtedly, a very worthy choice, " exclaimed Josephine, with the proudand happy look of a person really in love. "My future husband is GeneralBonaparte!"

The little great man (of a lawyer) fairly started with alarm. "How?"said he, "You!--the Viscountess Beauharnais, you--marry this littleGeneral Bonaparte, this general of the republic, which has alreadydeposed him once, and may depose him again to-morrow, and throw him backinto insignificance?"

Josephine's only reply was this: "I love him. "

"Yes you love him, now, " exclaimed Ragideau, warmly. "But you are wrongin marrying him, and you will one day, rue it. You are committing afolly, viscountess, for you want to marry a man who has nothing but hishat and his sword. "

"But who also has a future, " said Josephine, gayly, and then, turningthe conversation, she began to speak of the practical matters that hadbrought her thither. 

When her business with the notary had been concluded, Josephine returnedto the anteroom where Bonaparte was waiting for her. He came, smiling, to meet her, but, at the same moment, he gave the notary, who was withher, so fierce and wrathful a glance that the latter shrank back inconsternation. Josephine also remarked that Bonaparte's countenance waspaler that day than usual, and that he was less communicative and lessdisposed to chat with her; but she had already learned that it was notadvisable to question him as to the cause of his different moods. So, she kept silent on that score, and her cheerfulness and amiability soondrove away the clouds that had obscured the general's brow. 

The nuptials of Bonaparte and Josephine followed, on the 9th of March, 1796; and the witnesses, besides Eugene and Hortense, Josephine'schildren, were Barras, Jean Lemarois, Tallien, Calmelet, and Leclerq. The marriage-contract contained, along with the absolutely requisitefacts of the case, a very pleasant piece of flattery for Josephine, since, in order to establish an equality of ages between the twoparties, Bonaparte had himself put down a year older, and Josephine fouryears younger, than they really were. Bonaparte was not, as the contractstates, born on the 5th of February, 1768 but on the 15th of August, 1769; and Josephine not, as the document represents, on the 23d of July, 1767, but on the 23d of June, 1763[4]. 

[Footnote 4: Bourrienne, vol. I. , p. 350. ]

Josephine acknowledged this gallant act of her young spouse in queenlyfashion, for she brought him, as her wedding-gift, his appointment tothe command of the Italian army, which Barras and Tallien had granted toher, at her own request. 

But, before the young bridegroom repaired to his new scene of activity, there to win fresh laurels and renown, he passed a few happy weeks withhis lovely wife and his new family, in the small residence in the RueChautereine, which he had purchased a short time before his marriage, and which Josephine had fitted up with that elevated and refined goodtaste that had always distinguished her. 

One-half of Bonaparte's darling wish was at length fulfilled. He had hishouse, which was large enough to receive his friends. There was now onlya carriage to be procured in order to make the general the "happiestof men. "

But, as the wishes of men always aspire still farther the farther theyadvance, Bonaparte was no longer content with the possession of a smallhouse in Paris. He now wanted an establishment in the country also. 

"Look me up a little place in your beautiful valley of the Yonne, " hewrote about this time to Bourrienne, who was then living on his propertynear Sens; "and as soon as I get the money, I will buy it. Then I willretire to it. Now, don't forget that I do not want any of the nationaldomains[5]. "

[Footnote 5: Bourrienne, vol. I. , p. 103. ]

As for the carriage, the peace of Campo Formio brought the victoriousGeneral Bonaparte a magnificent team of six gray horses, which was apresent to the general of the French Republic from the Emperor ofAustria, who did not dream that, scarcely ten years later, he would havehim for a son-in-law. 

These superb grays, however, were--excepting the laurels of Arcola, Marengo, and Mantua, the only spoils of war that Bonaparte brought backwith him from his famous Italian campaign--the only gift which thegeneral had not refused to accept. 

It is true that the six grays could not be very conveniently hitched toa simple private carriage, but they had an imposing look attached to thegilded coach of state in which, a year later, the first consul made hissolemn entry into the Tuileries. 

CHAPTER VI. 

BONAPARTE IN ITALY. 

Josephine, now the wife of General Bonaparte, had but a few weeks inwhich to enjoy her new happiness, and then remained alone in Paris, doubly desolate, because she had to be separated, not only from herhusband, but from her children. Eugene accompanied his young step-fatherto Italy, and Hortense went as a pupil to Madame Campan'sboarding-school. The former, lady-in-waiting to Queen Marie Antoinette, had, at that time, opened an establishment for the education of youngladies, at St. Germain, and the greatest and most eminent families ofnewly-republicanized France liked to send their daughters to it, so thatthey might learn from the former court-lady the refined style andmanners of old royalist times. 

Hortense was, therefore, sent to that boarding-school, and there, in thesociety of her new Aunt Caroline--the sister of Bonaparte, and afterwardQueen of Naples--and the young Countess Stephanie Beauharnais, hercousin, passed a few happy years of work, of varied study, and ofyouthful maiden-dreams. 

Hortense devoted herself with iron diligence, and untiring enthusiasm, to her studies, which consisted, not only in the acquisition oflanguages, in music, and drawing, history and geography, but still morein the mastering the so-called _bon ton_ and that aristocratic _savoirvivre_ of which Madame Campan was a very model. While Hortense was thusreceiving instruction on the harp from the celebrated Alvimara, inpainting from Isabey, dancing from Coulon, and singing from Lambert, andwas playing on the stage of the amateur theatre at the boarding-schoolthe parts of heroines and lady-loves; while she was participating in theballs and concerts that Madame Campan gave in order to show off thetalent of her pupils to the friends she invited; while, in a word, Hortense was thus being trained up to the accomplishments of adistinguished woman of the world, she did not dream how useful all theselittle details, so trivial, apparently, at the time, would one day be toher, and how good a thing it was that she had learned to play parts atMadame Campan's, and to appear in society as a great lady. 

Meanwhile, Josephine was passing days of gratified pride and exultingtriumph at Paris, for the star of her hero was ascending, brighter andbrighter in its effulgence, above the horizon; the name of Bonaparte wasechoing in louder and louder volume through the world, and filling allEurope with a sort of awe-inspired fear and trembling, as the seabecomes agitated when the sun begins to rise. Victory after victory camejoyfully heralded from Italy, as ancient states fell beneath the irontread of the victor, and new ones sprang into being. The splendid oldRepublic of Venice, once the terror of the whole world, the victoriousQueen of the Adriatic, had to bow her haughty head, and her diadem fellin fragments at the feet of her triumphant conqueror. The lion of St. Mark's no longer made mankind tremble at his angry roar, and the slendermonumental pillars on the Piazzetta were all that remained to theshattered and fallen Venetian Republic of her conquests in Candia, Cyprus, and the Morea. But, from the dust and ashes of the oldcommonwealth, there arose, at Bonaparte's command, a new state, theCisalpine Republic, as a new and youthful daughter of the FrenchRepublic; and, when the last Doge of Venice, Luigi Manin, laid hispeaked crown at the feet of Bonaparte, and then fainted away, anotherVenetian, Dandolo, the son of a family that had given Venice thegreatest and most celebrated of her doges, stepped to the front at thehead of the new republic--that Dandolo of whom Bonaparte had said thathe was "a man. "

"Good God!" exclaimed Bonaparte one day to Bourrienne, "how seldom onemeets _men_ in the world! In Italy there are eighteen millions ofinhabitants, but I have found only two _men_ among them all--Dandolo andMelzi[6]. "

[Footnote 6: Bourrienne, vol. I. , p. 139. ]

But, while Bonaparte was despairing of _men_, in the very midst of hisvictories, he cherished the warmest, most impassioned love for his wife, to whom he almost daily wrote the tenderest and most ardent letters, theanswers to which he awaited with the most impatient longing. 

Josephine's letters formed the sole exception to a very unusual andsingular system that Bonaparte had adopted during a part of hiscampaign in Italy. This was to leave a11 written communications, excepting such as came to him by special couriers, unread for threeweeks. He threw them all into a large basket, and opened them only onthe twenty-first day thereafter. Still, General Bonaparte was moreconsiderate than Cardinal Dubois, who immediately consigned _all_ thecommunications he received to the flames, _unread_, and--while the fireon his hearth was consuming the paper on which, perchance, was writtenthe despairing appeal of a mother, imploring pardon for her son; of adisconsolate wife, beseeching pity for her husband; or the applicationof an ambitious statesman, desiring promotion--would point to them witha sardonic smile, and say, "There's _my_ correspondence!" Bonaparte, atleast, gave the letters a perusal, three weeks after they reached him, indeed; but those three weeks saved him and his secretary, Bourrienne, much time and labor, for, when they finally went to work on them, timeand circumstances had already disposed of four fifths of them, and thusonly one fifth required answers--a result that made Bonaparte laughheartily, and filled him with justifiable pride in what he termed his"happy idea. "

Josephine's letters, however, had not an hour or a minute to wait erethey were read. Bonaparte always received them with his heart boundingwith delight, and invariably answered them, in such impassioned, glowinglanguage as only his warm southern temperament could suggest, andcontrasted with which even Josephine's missives seemed a little cool andpassionless. 

Ere long Bonaparte ceased to be satisfied with merely getting lettersfrom his Josephine. He desired to have her, in person, with him; andhardly had the tempest of war begun to lull, ere the general summonedhis beloved to his side at Milan. She obeyed his call with rapture, andhastened to Italy to join him. Now came proud days of triumph andgratified affection. All Italy hailed Bonaparte as the conquering hero;all Italy did homage to the woman who bore his name, and whoseincomparable fascination and amiability, gracefulness and beauty, wonall hearts. Her life now resembled a magnificent, glorified, triumphalpageant; a dazzling fairy festival; a tale from the "Arabian Nights"that had become reality, with Josephine for its enchanted heroine, sparkling with stars, and gleaming with golden sunshine. 

CHAPTER VII. 

VICISSITUDES OF DESTINY. 

Resplendent was the triumphal procession with which Bonaparte made hisproud entry into Paris, on his return from Italy. In the front courtyardof the Luxembourg, the palace occupied by the _Corps Législatif_, waserected a vast amphitheatre, in which sat all the high authorities ofFrance; in the centre of the amphitheatre stood the altar of thecountry, surmounted by three gigantic statues, representing Freedom, Equality, and Peace. As Bonaparte stepped into this space, all thedense crowd that occupied the seats of the amphitheatre rose to theirfeet with uncovered heads, to hail the conqueror of Italy, and thewindows of the palace were thronged with handsomely dressed ladies, whowaved welcome to the young hero with their handkerchiefs. But suddenlythis splendid festival was marred by a serious mischance. An officer ofthe Directory, who, the better to satisfy his curiosity, had clamberedup on the scaffolding of the right-side wing of the palace, thenundergoing extension, fell from it, and struck the ground almost atNapoleon's feet. A shout of terror burst almost simultaneously from athousand throats, and the ladies turned pale and shrank back, shuddering, from the windows. The palace, which a moment before hadexhibited such a wealth of adornment in these living flowers, now stoodthere bare, with empty, gaping casements. A perceptible thrill ranthrough the ranks of the _Corps Législatif_, and here and there thewhisper passed that this fall of an officer portended the earlyoverthrow of the Directory itself, and that it, too, would soon, likethe unfortunate victim of the accident, be lying in its death agonies atthe feet of General Bonaparte. 

But the Directory, nevertheless, hastened to give the victor of Arcolanew _fêtes_ every day; and when these _fêtes_ were over, and Bonaparte, fatigued with the speeches, the festivities, the toasts, etc. , would beon his way returning homeward, there was the populace of Paris, whobeset his path in crowds, to greet him with hearty cheers; and thesepersistent friends he had to recognize, with smiles and shakings of thehand, or with a nod and a pleasant glance. 

A universal jubilee of delight had seized upon the French. Eachindividual saw in Bonaparte renown and greatness reflected on himself. Every one regarded him as the most brilliant impersonation of his owninner personality, and, therefore, felt drawn toward him with a sort ofreverential exultation. 

Josephine gave herself up with her whole soul to the enjoyment of theseglorious occasions. While Bonaparte, almost completely overwhelmed anddisturbed, could have held aloof from these ovations of the people ofParis, they, on the contrary, filled the heart of his wife with prideand joy. While in the theatre, he shrank back, abashed, behind hiswife's chair when the audience, learning his presence, filled theirnoisy plaudits and clamored to have a glimpse at him, Josephine wouldthank the crowd on his behalf with a bewitching smile, and eyes swellingwith tears for this proof of their regard, which to her seemed but anatural and appropriate tribute to her Achilles, her lion-hearted hero. But Bonaparte did not allow himself to be blinded by thesedemonstrations; and one day, when popular enthusiasm seemed as though itwould never end, and the crowd were untiring in their cries of "_ViveBonaparte!_" while Josephine turned her face toward him, glowing withdelight, and called out, exultingly--"See, how they love you, these goodpeople of Paris!" he replied, with an almost melancholy expression"Bah! The crowd would be just as numerous and noisy if they wereconducting me to the scaffold!"

However, these festivals and demonstrations at length subsided, and hislife resumed its more tranquil course. 

Bonaparte could now once more spend a few secluded days of rest and calmenjoyment in his (by this time more richly-decorated) dwelling in theRue Chautereine, the name of which the city authorities had changed to_Rue de la Victoire_, in honor of the conqueror at Arcola and Marengo. He could, after so many battles and triumphs, afford to repose a whilein the arms of love and happiness. 

Nevertheless, this inactivity soon began to press heavily on hisrestless spirit. He longed for new exploits, for fresh victories. Hefelt that he was only at the commencement, and not at the end of hisconquering career; he constantly heard ringing in his ears the notes ofthe battle-clarion, summoning him to renewed triumphs and to other pathsof glory. Love could only delight his heart, but could not completelysatisfy it. Repose he deemed but the beginning of death. 

"If I remain here inactive any longer, I am lost, " said he. "They retainthe resemblance of nothing whatever in Paris; one celebrity blots outanother in this great Babylon; if I show myself much oftener to thepublic, they will cease to look at me, and if I do not soon undertakesomething new, they will forget me. "

And he did undertake something new, something unprecedented, that filledall Europe with astonishment. He left the shores of France with an armyto conquer, for the French Republic, that ancient land of Egypt, onwhose pyramids the green moss of long-forgotten ages was flourishing. 

Josephine did not accompany him. She remained behind in Paris; but sheneeded consolation and encouragement to enable her to sustain thisseparation, which Bonaparte himself had confessed to her might be justas likely to last six years as six months. And what could afford betterconsolation to a heart so tender as Josephine's than the presence of herbeloved daughter? She had willingly given up her son to her husband, andhe had accompanied the latter to Egypt, but her daughter remained, andher she would not give up to any one, not even to Madame Campan'sboarding-school. 

Besides, the education of Hortense was now completed. She who had cometo St. Germain as a child, left the boarding-school, after two years'stay, a handsome, blooming young lady, adorned with all the charms ofinnocence, youth, grace, and refinement. 

Although she was now a young lady of nearly sixteen, she had retainedthe thoughts and ways of her childhood. Her heart was as a white sheetof paper, on which no profane hand had ventured to write a mortal name. She loved nothing beyond her mother, her brother, the fine arts, andflowers. She entertained a profound but speechless veneration for heryoung step-father. His burning gaze made her uneasy and timorous; hiscommanding voice made her heart throb anxiously; in fine, shereverenced him with adoring but too agitated an impression of awe tofind it possible to love him. He was for her at all times the hero, thelord and master, the father to whom she owed implicit obedience, but shedared not love him; she could only look up to and honor him froma distance. 

Hortense loved nothing but her mother, her brother, the fine arts, andflowers. She still looked out, with the expectant eyes of a child, uponthe world which seemed so beautiful and inviting to her, and from whichshe hoped yet to obtain some grand dazzling piece of good fortunewithout having any accurate idea in what it was to consist. She stillloved all mankind, and believed in their truth and rectitude. No thornhad yet wounded her heart; no disenchantment, no bright illusion dashedto pieces, had yet left its shadow on that clear, lofty brow oftransparent whiteness. The expression of her large blue eyes was stillradiant and undimmed, and her laugh was so clear and ringing, that italmost made her mother sad to hear it, for it sounded to her like thelast echo of some sweet, enchanting song of childhood, and she but toowell knew that it would soon be hushed. 

But Hortense still laughed, still sang with the birds, rivalling theirmelodies; the world still lay before her like an early morning dream, and she still hoped for the rising of the sun. 

Such was Hortense when her mother took her from Madame Campan'sboarding-school, to accompany her to the baths of Plombières. But thereit was that Hortense came near experiencing the greatest sorrow of herlife, in nearly losing her mother. 

She was with Josephine and some other ladies in the drawing-room of thehouse they occupied at Plombières. The doors facing the balcony wereopen, to let in the warm summer air. Hortense was sitting by the windowpainting a nosegay of wild flowers, that she had gathered with her ownhands on the hills of Plombières. Josephine found the atmosphere of theroom too close, and invited some ladies to step out with her upon thebalcony. A moment afterward there was heard a deafening crash, followedby piercing shrieks of terror; and when Hortense sprang in desperatefright to the front entrance, she found that the balcony on which hermother and the other ladies had stood had disappeared. Its fasteningshad given way, and they had been precipitated with it into the street. Hortense, in the first impulse of her distress and horror, would havesprung down after her beloved mother, and could only be held back withthe greatest difficulty. But this time fate had spared the young girl, and refrained from darkening the pure, unclouded heaven of her youth. Her mother escaped with no other injury than the fright, and a slightwound on her arm, while one of the ladies had both legs broken. 

Josephine's time to die had not yet come, for the prophecy of thefortune-teller had not yet been fulfilled. Josephine was, indeed, thewife of a renowned general, but she was not yet "something more thana queen. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

BONAPARTE'S RETURN FROM EGYPT. 

Bonaparte had got back from Egypt. His victory at Aboukir had adornedhis brows with fresh laurels, and all France hailed the returningconqueror with plaudits of exulting pride. For the first time, Hortensewas present at the festivities which the city of Paris dedicated to herstep-father; for the first time she saw the homage that men and women, graybeards and children alike, paid to the hero of Italy and Egypt. These festivities and this homage filled her heart with a tremor ofalarm, and yet, at the same time, with joyous exultation. In the midstof these triumphs and these ovations which were thus offered to hersecond father, the young girl recalled the prison in which her motherhad once languished, the scaffold upon which the head of her own fatherhad fallen; and frequently when she glanced at the rich gold-embroidereduniform of her brother, she reminded him with a roguish smile of thetime when Eugene went in a blue blouse, as a carpenter's apprentice, through the streets of Paris with a long plank on his shoulder. 

These recollections of the first terrible days of her youth keptHortense from feeling the pride and arrogance of good fortune, preservedto her modest, unassuming tone of mind, prevented her from entertainingany overweening or domineering propensity in her day of prosperity, orfrom seeming cast down and hopeless when adversity came. She neverlulled herself with the idea of good fortune that could not pass away, but her remembrances kept her eyes wide open, and hence, when misfortunecame, it did not take her by surprise, but found her armed and ready toconfront it. 

Nevertheless, she drank in the pleasure of these prosperous days in fulldraughts, delighted as she was to see the mother, of whom she was sofond, surrounded by such a halo of glory and gratified love; and in thename of her murdered father she thanked General Bonaparte with doublefervor, from the bottom of her heart, for having been the means ofprocuring for her mother, who had suffered so deeply in her first weddedlife, so magnificent a glow of splendor and happiness in hersecond marriage. 

In the mean while, new days of storm and tumult were at hand to dispelthis brief period of tranquil enjoyment. A fresh revolution convulsedall France, and, ere long, Paris was divided into two hostile camps, burning to begin the work of mutual annihilation. On one side stood thedemocratic republicans, who looked back with longing regret to the daysof terrorism and bloodshed, perceiving, as they did, that tranquillityand protracted peace must soon wrest the reins of power from theirgrasp, and therefore anxiously desiring to secure control through theelement of intimidation. This party declared that liberty was in danger, and the Constitution threatened; they summoned the _sans-culottes_ andthe loud-mouthed republicans of the clubs to the armed defence of theimperilled country, and pointed with menacing hands at Bonaparte as theman who wished to overthrow the republic, and put France once more inthe bonds of servitude. 

On the other side stood the discreet friends of the country, therepublicans by compulsion, who denounced terrorism, and had swornfidelity to the republic, only because it was under this reptiledisguise alone that they could escape the threatening knife of theguillotine. On this side were arrayed the men of mind, the artists andpoets who hopefully longed for a new era, because they knew that thedays of terror and of the tyrannical democratic republic had brought notmerely human beings, but also the arts and sciences, to the scaffold. With them, too, were arrayed the merchants and artisans, the bankers, the business-men, the property-owners, all of whom wanted to see therepublic at least established upon a more moderate and quiet foundation, in order to have confidence in its durability and substantial character, and to commence the works of peace with a better assurance of success. And at the head of these moderate republicans stood Bonaparte. 

The 18th Brumaire of the year 1798 was the decisive day. It was afearful struggle that then began afresh--a struggle, however, in whichlittle blood was spilt, and not men but principles were slaughtered. 

The Council of Elders, the Council of the Five Hundred, the Directory, and the Constitution of the year III. , fell together, and from the ruinsof the bloody and ferocious democratic republic arose the moderate, rational republic of the year 1798. At its head were the three consuls, Bonaparte, Cambacères, and Lebrun. 

On the day following, the 18th Brumaire, these three consuls entered theLuxembourg, amid the plaudits of the people, and slept, as conquerors, in the beds of the Directory of yesterday. 

From that day forward a new world began to take shape, and the forms ofetiquette which, during the ascendency of the democratic republic, hadslunk away out of sight into the darkest recesses of the Luxembourg andthe Tuileries, began to reappear, slowly and circumspectly, 'tis true, in broad daylight. People were no longer required, in accordance withthe spirit of equality, to ignore all distinctions of condition andculture, by the use of the words "citizen" and "citizeness;" or, in thename of brotherhood, to endure the close familiarities of every brawlingstreet ruffian; or, in the name of liberty, to let all his own personalliberty and inclination be trampled under foot. 

Etiquette, as I have said, crept forth from the dark corners again; andthe three consuls, who had taken possession of the Luxembourg, whisperedthe word "monsieur" in each other's ears, and greeted Josephine and herdaughter, who were installed in the apartments prepared for them in thepalace on the next day, with the title of "madame. " Yet, only a yearearlier, the two words "monsieur" and "madame" had occasioned revolt inParis, and brought about bloodshed. A year earlier General Augereau hadpromulged the stern order of the day in his division, that, "whoevershould use the word 'monsieur' or 'madame, ' orally or in writing, onpretext whatever, should be deprived of his rank, and declared incapableof ever again serving in the army of the republic[7]. "

[Footnote 7: Bourrienne, vol. I. , p. 229. ]

Now, these two proscribed words made their triumphant entry, along withthe three consuls, into the palace of the Luxembourg, which had beendelivered from its democratic tyrants. 

Josephine was now, at least, "Madame" Bonaparte, and Hortense was"Mademoiselle" Beauharnais. The wife of Consul Bonaparte now required alarger retinue of servants, and a more showy establishment. Indeed, temerity could not yet go so far as to speak of the _court_ of MadameBonaparte and the _court ladies_ of Mademoiselle Hortense; they hadstill to be content with the limited space of the diminutive Luxembourg, but they were soon to be compensated for all this, and, if they stillhad to call each other _monsieur_ and _madame_, they could, a few yearslater, say "your highness, " "your majesty, " and "monseigneur, " in theTuileries. 

The Luxembourg Palace was soon found to be too small for the jointresidence of the three consuls, and too confined for the ambition ofBonaparte, who could not brook the near approach of the other two menwho shared the supreme control of France with him. Too it was also forthe longings that now spoke with ever louder and stronger accents inhis breast, and pushed him farther and farther onward in this path ofsplendor and renown which, at first, had seemed to him but as the magicmirage of his dreams, but which now appeared as the glittering truth andreality of his waking hours. The Luxembourg was then too small for thethree consuls, but they had to go very circumspectly and carefully towork to prepare the way to the old royal palace of the Bourbons. Itwould not do to oust the representatives of the people, who held theirsessions there, too suddenly; the distrustful republicans must not bemade to apprehend that there was any scheme on foot to revolutionizeFrance back into monarchy, and to again stifle the many-headed monsterof the republic under a crown and a sceptre. It was necessary, beforeentering the Tuileries, to give the French people proof that men mightstill be very good republicans, even although they might wish to behoused in the bedchamber of a king. 

Hence, before the three consuls transferred their quarters to theTuileries, the royal palace had to be transformed to a residence worthyof the representatives of the republic. So, the first move made was toset up a handsome bust of the elder Brutus--a war-trophy of Bonaparte's, which he had brought with him from Italy--in one of the galleries of theTuileries; and then David had to carve out some other statues of therepublican heroes of Greece and Rome and place them in the saloons. Anumber of democratic republicans, who were defeated and exiled on the13th Vendémiaire, were permitted to return to France, and news of thedeath of WASHINGTON, the noblest and wisest of all republicans, arrivingjust at that time, Bonaparte ordered that the whole army should wear thebadge of mourning for ten days. Black bands were worn on the arm, andsable streamers waved from the standards, in honor of the deceasedrepublican hero. 

However, when these ten days were past, and France and her army hadsufficiently expressed their regret, the three consuls entered theTuileries through the grand portal, on the two sides of which toweredaloft two liberty-poles that still bore the old inscription of therepublic of 1792. On the tree to the right was the legend "August 10, 1792, " and on the one to the left, "Royalty in France is overthrown andwill never rise again. " It was between these two significant symbolsthat Bonaparte first strode into the Tuileries. It was a very long andimposing procession of carriages which moved that day toward the palace, through the streets of the capital. They only lacked the outward pompand magnificence which rendered the latter _fêtes_ of the empire soremarkable. With the exception of the splendid vehicle in which thethree consuls rode, and which was drawn by the six grays presented bythe Emperor of Austria, there were but few good equipages to be seen. France of the new day had not had the opportunity to build anystate-coaches, and those of old France had been too shamefully misusedto admit of their ever serving again; for it would be out of thequestion to employ, in this solemn procession of the three consuls, thestate-carriages of the old aristocracy, that had served as the vehiclesin which the democratic republic had transported dead dogs to theirplace of deposit. Such had been the fact in the September days of theyear 1793. 

The unclaimed dogs of the fugitive or slaughtered aristocracy at thattime wandered without masters, by thousands, through the streets andslaked their thirst with the blood which flowed down from the guillotineand dyed the ground with the purple of the new system ofpopular liberty. 

The smell of the fresh blood and the ghastly sustenance which theguillotine yielded them had restored the animals to their originalsavage propensities, and hence those who had been so fortunate as toescape the murderous axe of the _sans-culottes_ had now to apprehend thedanger of falling a victim to the sharp teeth of these wildblood-hounds; and as the ferocious brutes knew no difference betweenaristocrats and republicans, but fell upon both with equal fury, itbecame necessary, at last, to annihilate these new foes of the republic. So, the Champs Elysées were surrounded with troops, and the dogs weredriven into the Rue Royale and the Place Royale, where they were moweddown by musketry. On that one day the dead carcasses of more than threethousand dogs lay about in the streets of Paris, and there theycontinued to fester for three days longer, because a dispute had arisenamong the city officials as to whose duty it was to remove them. Atlength the Convention undertook that task, and intrusted the work torepresentative Gasparin, who was shrewd enough to convert the removal ofthe dead animals into a republican ceremony. These were the dogs of the_ci-devants_ and aristocrats that were to be buried, and it was quiteproper, therefore, that they should receive aristocratic honors. 

Gasparin, acting upon this idea, caused all the coaches of the fugitiveand massacred aristocracy to be brought from their stables, and thecarcasses of the dogs were flung into these emblazoned and escutcheonedvehicles of old France. Six grand coaches that had belonged to the kingopened the procession, and the tails, heads, bodies and legs of theluckless quadrupeds could be seen behind the glittering glass panelsheaped together in wild disorder[8]. 

[Footnote 8: Mémoires of the Marchioness de Créqui, vol. Viii, p. 10. ]

After this public canine funeral celebration of the one and indivisiblerepublic, the gilded state-coaches could not be consistently used forany human and less mournful occasion, and hence it was that the consularprocession to the Tuileries was so deficient in carriages, and thatpublic hacks on which the numbers were defaced had to be employed. 

With the entry of Bonaparte into the Tuileries the revolution was at anend. He laid his victorious sword across the gory, yawning chasm whichhad drunk the blood of both aristocrats and democrats; and of that swordhe made a bridge over which society might pass from one century to theother, and from the republic to the empire. 

As Bonaparte was walking with Josephine and Hortense through the DianaGallery on the morning after their entry into the Tuileries, and waswith them admiring the statuary he had caused to be placed there, bothof the ladies possessing much artistic taste, he paused in front of thestatue of the younger Brutus, which stood close to the statue of JuliusCaesar. He gazed long and earnestly at both of the grave, solemn faces;but, suddenly, as though just awaking from a deep dream, he sharplyraised his head, and, laying his hand with an abrupt movement uponJosephine's shoulder, as he looked up at the statue of Brutus withblazing, almost menacing glances, said in a voice that made the heartsof both the ladies bound within their bosoms:

"It is not enough to be in the Tuileries: one must remain there. Andwhom has not this palace held? Even street thieves and conventionistshave occupied it! Did not I see with my own eyes how the savage Jacobinsand cohorts of _sans-culottes_ surrounded the palace and led away thegood King Louis XVI. As a prisoner! Ah! never mind, Josephine; have nofear for the future! Let them but dare to come hither once more[9]!"

[Footnote 9: Bourrienne, vol. Vi, p. 3. ]

And, as Bonaparte stood there and thus spoke in front of the statues ofBrutus and Julius Caesar, his voice re-echoed like angry thunder throughthe long gallery, and made the figures of the heroes of the deadrepublic tremble on their pedestals. 

Bonaparte lifted his arm menacingly toward the statue of Brutus, asthough he would, in that fierce republican who slew Caesar, challengeall republican France, whose Caesar and Augustus in one he aspired tobe, to mortal combat. 

The revolution was closed. Bonaparte had installed himself in theTuileries with Josephine and her two children. The son and daughter ofGeneral Beauharnais, whom the republic had murdered, had now foundanother father, who was destined to avenge that murder on therepublic itself. 

The revolution was over!

BOOK II. 

_THE QUEEN OF HOLLAND_. 

CHAPTER I. 

A FIRST LOVE. 

With the entry of Bonaparte into the Tuileries, the revolution closed, and blissful days of tranquillity and gay festivity followed. Josephineand Hortense were the cynosure of all these festivals, for they were, likewise, the animating centre whence the grace and beauty, theattractive charm, and the intellectual significance of them all, proceeded. 

Hortense was passionately fond of dancing, and no one at "the court ofJosephine" tripped it with such gracefulness and such enchantingdelicacy as she. Now, as the reader will observe, people already beganto speak of the "court" of Madame Bonaparte, the powerful wife of theFirst Consul of France. Now, also, _audiences_ were held, and Josephineand Hortense already had a court retinue who approached them with thesame subserviency and humility as though they had been princesses ofthe blood. 

Madame Bonaparte now rode with her daughter through the streets ofParis in a richly-gilded coach, under a military escort, and whereverthe populace caught a glimpse of them they greeted the wife and daughterof the first consul with applauding shouts. 

Bonaparte's coachmen and servants had now a livery, and made theirappearance in green coats with gold embroidery and galloons. There werechamberlains and lackeys, grooms and outriders; splendid dinners andevening parties were given, and the ambassadors of foreign powers werereceived in solemn audience; for, now, all the European states hadrecognized the French Republic under the consulate, and, as Bonapartehad concluded peace with England and Austria, these two great powersalso sent envoys to the court of the mighty consul. 

Instead of warlike struggles, the Tuileries now witnessed contentions ofthe toilet, and _powder or no powder_ was one of the great questions ofetiquette in which Josephine gave the casting vote when she said that"every one should dress as seemed best and most becoming to each, butyet endeavor to let good taste pervade the selection. "

For some time, meanwhile, Hortense had participated with less zest thanformerly in the amusements and parties of the day; for some time she hadseemed to prefer being alone more than in previous years, and heldherself aloof in the quiet retirement of her own apartments, where themelancholy, tender, and touching melodies which she drew from her harpin those lonely hours seemed to hold her better converse than all thegay and flattering remarks that she was accustomed to hear in hermother's grand saloons. 

Hortense sought solitude, for to solitude alone could she confide whatwas weighing on her heart; to it alone could she venture to confess thatshe was in love, and with all the innocent energy, all the warmth andabsolute devotion of a first attachment. How blissful were those hoursof reverie, of expectant peering into the future, which seemed topromise the rising of another sun of happiness to her beaming gaze! Forthis young girl's passion had the secret approbation of her mother andher step-father, and both of them smilingly pretended not to be, in theleast degree, aware of the tender understanding that subsisted betweenHortense and General Duroc, Bonaparte's chief adjutant; only that, whileJosephine took it to be the first tender fluttering of a young girl'sheart awaking to the world, Bonaparte ascribed a more serious meaning toit, and bestowed earnest thought upon the idea of a union betweenHortense and his friend. He was anxious, above all other things, to giveDuroc a more important and imposing status, and therefore sent him asambassador to St. Petersburg, to convey to the Emperor Alexander, whohad just ascended his father's throne, the congratulations and goodwishes of the First Consul of France. 

The poor young lovers, constantly watched as they were, and asconstantly restrained by the rules of an etiquette which was nowbecoming more and more rigid, had not the consolation accorded to themof exchanging even one last unnoticed pressure of the hand, one lasttender vow of eternal fidelity, when they took leave of each other. Butthey hoped in the future, and looked forward to Duroc's return, and tothe precious recompense that Bonaparte had significantly promised to hisfriend. That recompense was the hand of Hortense Until then, they had tocontent themselves with that sole and sweetest solace of all partedlovers, the letters that they interchanged, and which Bourrienne, Bonaparte's secretary, faithfully and discreetly transmitted. 

"Nearly every evening, " relates Bourrienne, in his Mémoires, "I played agame of billiards with Mademoiselle Hortense, who was an adept at it. When I said, in a low tone to her, 'I have a letter, ' the game wouldcease at once, and she would hasten to her room, whither I followed her, and took the letter to her. Her eyes would instantly fill with tears ofemotion and delight, and it was only after a long lapse of time that shewould go down to the saloon whither I had preceded her[10]. "

[Footnote 10: Bourrienne, vol. Iv. , p. 319. ]

Hortense, thus busied only with her young lover and her innocent dreamsof the future, troubled herself but little concerning what was takingplace around her, and did not perceive that others were ready to makeher young heart the plaything of domestic and political intrigue. 

Bonaparte's brothers, who were jealous of the sway that the beautifuland fascinating Josephine still exerted over the first consul, as in thefirst days of their wedded life, were anxious, by separating Hortensefrom her mother, to deprive Josephine of one of the strongest supportsof her influence, and thus, by isolating Josephine, bring themselvesnearer to their brother. They well knew the affection which Bonaparte, who was particularly fond of children, entertained for those of hiswife, and they also knew that Eugene and Hortense had, one day, not bytheir entreaties or their tears, but by their mere presence, preventedJosephine and Bonaparte from separating. 

This was at the time when the whisperings of his brothers and of Junothad succeeded in making Bonaparte jealous on his return from Egypt. 

At that time, Bonaparte had resolved to separate from a woman, againstwhom, however, his anger was thus fiercely aroused, simply because hewas so strongly attached to her; and when Bourrienne implored him, atleast, to hear Josephine before condemning her, and to see whether shecould not clear herself, or he could not forgive her, he had replied:

"I forgive her? Never! Were I not sure of myself this time, I would tearmy heart out and throw it into the fire!" And, as Bonaparte spoke, hisvoice trembling the while with rage, he clutched his breast with hishand as though he would indeed rend it to pieces. This scene occurred inthe evening, but, when Bourrienne came into the office next morning, Bonaparte stepped forward to meet him with a smile on his face, and alittle confused. 

"Now, Bourrienne, " said he, "you will be content--she is here! Don'tsuppose that I have forgiven her--no not at all! No, I reproached hervehemently, and sent her away. But, what would you have?--when she leftme, weeping, I went after her, and, as she descended the stairs with herhead drooping, I saw Eugene and Hortense, who went with her, sobbingviolently. I have not the heart to look unmoved on any one in tears. Eugene had accompanied me to Egypt, and I have accustomed myself toregard him as my adopted son; he is so gallant, so excellent a youngman. Hortense is just coming out into the world of society, and everyone who knows her speaks well of her. I confess, Bourrienne, that thesight of her moved me deeply, and the sobbing of those two poor childrenmade me sad as well. I said to myself, 'Shall they be the victims oftheir mother's fault?' I called Eugene back. Hortense turned round and, along with Josephine, followed her brother. I saw the movement, and saidnothing. What could I do? One cannot be a mortal man without having hishours of weakness!"

"Be assured, general, " exclaimed Bourrienne, "that your adopted childrenwill reward you for it!"

"They must do so, Bourrienne--they must do so; for it is a greatsacrifice that I have made for them[11]!"

[Footnote 11: Bourrienne, vol. Iv. , p. 119. ]

This sacrifice, however, had its recompense immediately, for Josephinehad been able to set herself right, and Bonaparte had joyfully becomeconvinced that the accusations of his jealous brothers had been unjust. 

Hence it was that Bonaparte's brothers wished to re move Hortense, sincethey knew that she was her mother's main stay; that she, with hergentle, amiable disposition, her tact and good sense, her penetratingand never-failing sagacity, stood like a wise young Mentor at the sideof her beautiful, attractive, impulsive, somewhat vain, and veryextravagant mother. 

It would be easier to set Josephine aside were Hortense first removed;and Josephine they wanted to get out of the way because she interferedwith the ambitious designs of Bonaparte's brothers. Since they could notbecome great and celebrated by their own merits, they desired to be sothrough their illustrious brother; and, in order that they might becomekings, Bonaparte must, above all things, wear a crown. Josephine wasopposed to this project; she loved Bonaparte enough to fear the dangersthat a usurpation of the crown must bring with it, and she had so littleambition as to prefer her present brilliant and peaceful lot to theproud but perilous exaltation to a throne. 

For this reason, then, Josephine was to be removed, and Bonaparte mustchoose another wife--a wife in whose veins there should courselegitimate royal blood, and who would, therefore, be content to see acrown upon the head of her consort. 

CHAPTER II. 

LOUIS BONAPARTE AND DUROC. 

The brothers of Bonaparte went diligently to work then, above allthings, to get Hortense out of the way. They told Bonaparte of theburning love of the young couple, of the letters which they sent to eachother, and proposed to him that Duroc should be transferred to theItalian army with a higher command, and that Hortense should then begiven to him. They persuaded the unsuspecting, magnanimous hero, who waseasy to deceive in these minor matters and thus easy because he wasoccupied with grand designs and grand things; they persuaded him to keepthe proposed union a secret for the present, and then on Duroc's earlyreturn to surprise the young couple and Josephine alike. 

But Josephine had, this time, seen through the plans of her hostilebrothers-in-law. She felt that her whole existence, her entire future, was imperilled, should she not succeed in making friends and allies inthe family of Bonaparte itself. There was only one of Bonaparte'sbrothers who was not hostile to her, but loved her as the wife of hisbrother, to whom he was, at that time, still devoted with the mostenthusiastic and submissive tenderness. 

This one was Bonaparte's brother Louis, a young man of serious andsedate disposition, more of a scholar than a warrior, more a man ofscience than fit for the council-chamber and the drawing-room. His wasa reserved, quiet, somewhat timid character, which, notwithstanding itsapparent gentleness, developed an inflexible determination and energy atthe right, decisive moment, and then could not be shaken by eitherthreats or entreaties. His external appearance was little calculated toplease, nay, was even somewhat sinister, and commanded the respect ofothers only in moments of excitement, through the fierce blaze of hislarge blue eyes, that seemed rather to look inward than outward. 

Louis Bonaparte was one of those deep, self-contained, undemonstrative, and by no means showy natures which are too rarely understood, because, in the noisy bustle of life, we have not the time and do not take thepains to analyze them. Only a sister or a mother is in a position tocomprehend and love men of this stamp, because the confidential homerelations of long years have revealed to them the hidden bloom of thesesensitive plants which shrink back and close their leaves at every rudecontact of the world. But rarely, however, do they find a loving heartoutside, for, since their own hearts are too timid to seek for love, noone gives himself the trouble to discover them. 

The young brother of her husband, now scarcely twenty-four, was the onewho seemed destined in Josephine's eyes to afford her a point of supportin the Bonaparte family. 

Madame Letitia loved him more tenderly than she did any of them, next toher Napoleon, since he was the petted darling of the whole family ofbrothers, who had no fear of him, because he was neither egotistical norambitious enough to cross their plans, but quietly allowed them to havetheir way, and only asked that they would also leave him undisturbed tofollow out his own quiet and unobtrusive inclinations. He was theconfidant of his young and beautiful sisters, who were always sure tofind in him a discreet counsellor, and never a betrayer. Finally, he wasthe one of the whole circle of brothers toward whom Napoleon felt thesincerest and warmest inclination, because he could not help esteeminghim for his noble qualities, and because he was never annoyed by him ashe was by his other brothers; for the ambition and the avarice ofJerome, Joseph, and Lucien, were even then a source of displeasure andchagrin to Bonaparte. 

"Were any one to hear with what persistency my brothers demand freshsums of money from me, every day, he would really think that I hadconsumed from them the inheritance their father left, " said Bonaparte, one day, to Bourrienne, after a violent scene between him and Jerome, which had ended, as they all did, in Jerome getting another draft on theprivate purse of the first consul. 

Louis, however, never asked for money, but always appeared thankfullycontent with whatever Bonaparte chose to give him, unsolicited, andthere never were any wranglings with tradesmen on his account, or anydebts of his to pay. 

This last circumstance was what filled Josephine with a sort ofrespectful deference for her young step-brother. He understood how tomanage his affairs so well as never to run up debts, and this was aquality that was so sorely lacking in Josephine, that she could neveravoid incurring debt. How many bitter annoyances, how much care andanxiety had not her debts cost her already; how often Bonaparte hadscolded her about them; how often she had promised to do differently, and make no more purchases until she should be in a condition to payat once!

But this reform was to her thoughtless and magnanimous nature animpossibility; and however greatly she may have feared the flashing eyesand thundering voice of her husband when he was angered, she could notescape his wrath in this one point, for in that point precisely was itthat the penitent sinner continually fell into fresh transgression--andagain ran into debt!

Louis, however, never had debts. He was as cautious and regular as herown Hortense, and therefore, thought Josephine, these two young, careful, thoughtful temperaments would be well adapted to each other, and would know how to manage their hearts as discreetly as they didtheir purses. 

So she wished to make a step-son of Louis Bonaparte, in order tostrengthen her own position thereby. Josephine already had a premonitorydistrust of the future, and it may sometimes have happened that she tookthe mighty eagle that fluttered above her head for a bird of evil omenwhose warning cry she frequently fancied that she heard in the stillnessof the night. 

The negress at Martinique had said to her, "You will be more than aqueen. " But now, Josephine had visited the new fortune-teller, MadameVilleneuve, in Paris, and she had said to her, "You will wear a crown, but only for a short time. "

Only for a short time! Josephine was too young, too happy, and toohealthful, to think of her own early death. It must, then, be somethingelse that threatened her--a separation, perhaps. She had no children, yet Bonaparte so earnestly desired to have a son, and his brothersrepeated to him daily that this was for him a political necessity. 

Thus Josephine trembled for her future; she stretched out her hands forhelp, and in the selfishness of her trouble asked her daughter to giveup her own dreams of happiness, in order to secure the real happiness ofher mother. 

Yet Hortense was in love; her young heart throbbed painfully at thethought of not only relinquishing her own love, but of marrying anunloved man, whom she had never even thought of, and had scarcelynoticed. She deemed it impossible that she could be asked to sacrificeher own beautiful and blessed happiness, to a cold-blooded calculation, an artificial family intrigue; and so, with all the enthusiasm of afirst love, she swore rather to perish than to forego her lover. 

"But Duroc has no fortune and no future to offer you, " said Josephine. "What he is, he is only through the friendship of Bonaparte. He has noestate, no importance, no celebrity. Were Bonaparte to abandon him hewould fall back into nothingness and obscurity again. "

Hortense replied, smiling through her tears: "I love him, and have noother ambition than to be his wife. "

"But he? Do you think that he too has no other ambition than to becomeyour husband? Do you think that he loves you for your own sake alone?"

"I know it, " said the young girl, with beaming eyes; "Duroc has told methat he loved me, and me only. He has sworn eternal fidelity and love tome. Both of us ask for nothing more than to belong to each other. "

Josephine shrugged her shoulders almost compassionately. 

"Suppose, " she rejoined, "that I were to affirm that Duroc is willing tomarry you, only because he is ambitious, and thinks that Bonaparte wouldthen advance him the more rapidly?"

"It is a slander--it is impossible!" exclaimed Hortense, glowing withhonest indignation; "Duroc loves me, and his noble soul is far from allselfish calculation. "

"And if I were to prove the contrary to you?" asked Josephine, irritatedby her daughter's resistance, and made cruel by her alarm for herown fortunes. 

Hortense turned pale, and her face, which had been so animated, sobeautiful, a moment before, blanched as though the icy chill of deathhad passed over it. 

"If you can prove to me, " she said, in a hollow tone, "that Duroc lovesme only through ambitious motives, I am ready to give him up, and marrywhom you will. "

Josephine triumphed. "Duroc gets back to-day from his journey, " shereplied, "and in three days more I will give you the proof that he doesnot love you, but the family alliance which you present. "

Hortense had heard only the first of her mother's words: "Duroc returnsto-day. " What cared she for all the rest? She should see him again--sheshould read consolation and love's assurance in his handsome manly face;not that she needed this to confirm her confidence, for she believed inhim, and not the shadow of a doubt obscured her blissful greeting. 

Meanwhile, Josephine's pretty hands were busy drawing the meshes of thisintrigue tighter every moment. She absolutely required a supporting allyin the family, _against_ the family itself; and for this reason Louismust become the husband of Hortense. 

Bonaparte himself was against this union, and was quite resolved tomarry Duroc to his step-daughter. But Josephine managed to shake hisresolve, by means of entreaties, representations, caresses, and littleendearments, and even succeeded in such eloquent argument to show thatDuroc did not cherish any love whatever for Hortense, but wanted to makean ambitious speculation out of her, that Bonaparte resolved, at least, to put his friend to the test, and, if Josephine turned out to be right, to marry Hortense to his own brother. 

After this last interview with Josephine, Bonaparte went back into hisoffice, where he found Bourrienne, as ever, at the writing-desk. 

"Where is Duroc?" he hastily asked. 

"He has gone out--to the opera, I think. "

"So soon as he returns tell him that I have promised him Hortense--thathe shall marry her. But I want the wedding to take place in two days, atthe farthest. I give Hortense five hundred thousand francs, and Iappoint Duroc to the command of the eighth military division. On the dayafter his wedding he shall start with his wife for Toulon, and we shalllive apart. I will not have a son-in-law in my house; and, as I want tosee these matters brought to an end, at last, let me know to-day whetherDuroc accepts my propositions. "

"I don't think that he will, general. "

"Very good! Then, in that case, Hortense shall marry my brother Louis. "

"Will she consent?"

"She will have to consent, Bourrienne. "

Duroc came in at a late hour that evening, and Bourrienne told him, wordfor word, the ultimatum of the first consul. 

Duroc listened to him attentively; but, as Bourrienne went on with hiscommunication, his countenance grew darker and darker. 

"If such be the case, " he exclaimed at last, when Bourrienne had gotthrough, "if Bonaparte will do nothing more than that for hisson-in-law, I must forego a marriage with Hortense, however painful itmay be to do so: and then, instead of going to Toulon, I can remain inParis. " And, as he ceased to speak, Duroc took up his hat, without atrace of excitement or concern, and departed. 

That same evening, Josephine received from her husband his full consentto the marriage of her daughter to Louis Bonaparte. 

On that very evening, too, Josephine informed her daughter that Durochad not withstood the test, and that he had now relinquished her, through ambition, as, through ambition, he had previously feignedto love her. 

Hortense gazed at her mother with tearless eyes. She had not a word ofcomplaint or reproach to utter; she was conscious merely that athunder-bolt had just fallen, and had forever dashed to atoms her love, her hopes, her future, and her happiness. 

But she no longer had the strength and the will to escape the evil thathad flung its meshes around her; she submitted meekly to it. She hadbeen betrayed by love itself; and what cared she now for her future, herembittered, bloomless, scentless life, when _he_ had deceived her--_he_, the only one whom she had loved?

The next morning Hortense stepped, self-possessed and smiling, intoJosephine's private cabinet, and declared that she was ready to fulfilher mother's wishes and marry Louis Bonaparte. 

Josephine clasped her in her arms, with exclamations of delight. Shelittle knew what a night of anguish, of wailing, of tears, and ofdespair, Hortense had struggled through, or that her present smilingunconcern was nothing more than the dull hopelessness of a worn-outheart. She did not see that Hortense smiled now only in order thatDuroc should not observe that she suffered. Her love for him was dead, but her maidenly pride had survived, and it dried her tears, andconjured up a smile to her struggling lips; it, too, enabled her todeclare that she was ready to accept the husband whom her mother mightpresent to her. 

Thus, Josephine had accomplished her purpose; she had made one ofBonaparte's brothers her son. Now there remained the question whethershe should attain her other aim through that son, and whether she shouldfind in him a support against the intrigues of the other brothers of thefirst consul. 

CHAPTER III. 

CONSUL AND KING. 

There was only two days' interval between the betrothal of the youngcouple and their wedding; and on the 7th of January, 1802, Hortense wasmarried to Louis Bonaparte, the youngest brother but one of the firstconsul. Bonaparte, who contented himself with the civil ceremony, andhad never given his own union with Josephine the sanction of the Church, was less careless and unconcerned with regard to this youthful alliance, which had, indeed, great need of the blessing of Heaven, in order toprove a source of any good fortune to the young couple. Perhaps hereasoned that the consciousness of the indissoluble character of theirunion would lead them to an honorable and upright effort for a mutualinclination; perhaps it was because he simply wished to render theirseparation impossible. Cardinal Caprara was called into the Tuileries, after the civil ceremony concluded, and had to bestow the blessing ofGod and of the Church upon the bride and bridegroom. 

Yet, not one word or one glance had thus far been interchanged by theyoung couple. It was in silence that they stepped, after the ceremonieswere over, into the carriage that bore them to their new home, in thesame small residence in the Rue de la Victoire which her mother hadoccupied in the first happy weeks of her youthful union with Bonaparte. 

Now, another young, newly-married pair were making their entry into thisdwelling, but love did not enter with them; affection and happiness didnot shine in their faces, as had been the case with Bonaparte andJosephine. The eyes of Hortense were dimmed with tears, and thecountenance of her young husband was dark and gloomy. For, on his side, he, too, felt no love for this young woman; and, as she never forgavehim for having accepted her hand, although he knew that she lovedanother, he, in like manner, could never forgive her having consented tobe his wife, although he had not been the one to solicit it, andalthough he had never told her that he loved her. Both had bowed to thewill of him who gave the law, not merely to all France, but also to hisown family, and who had already become the lord and master of therepublic. Both had married through obedience, not for love; and theconsciousness of this compulsion rose like an impassable wall betweenthese two otherwise tender and confiding young hearts. In theconsciousness of this compulsion, too, they would not even try to loveone another, or find in each other's society the happiness that theywere forbidden to seek elsewhere. 

Pale and mournful, in splendid attire, but with a heavy heart, didHortense make her appearance at the _fêtes_ which were given in honor ofher marriage; and it was with a beclouded brow and averted face thatLouis Bonaparte received the customary congratulations. While every onearound them exhibited a cheerful and joyous bearing, while parties weregiven in their honor, and people danced and sang, the young couple only, of all present, were dull and sad. Louis avoided speaking to Hortense, and she turned her gaze away from him, possibly so that he might notread in it her deep and angry aversion. 

But she had to accept her lot; and, since she was thus indissolublybound up with another, she had to try to live with that other. Hortense, externally so gentle and yielding, so full of maiden coyness anddelicacy, nevertheless possessed a strong and resolute soul, and, in thenoble pride of her wounded heart, was unwilling to give any one theright to pity her. Her soul wept, but she restrained her tears and stilltried to smile, were it only that Duroc might not perceive the tracesof her grief upon her sunken cheeks. She had torn this love from herheart, and she rebuked herself that it had left a wound. She laid claimto happiness no more; but her youth, her proud self-respect, revolted atthe idea of continuing to be the slave of misfortune henceforth, and soshe formed her firm resolve, saying to herself, with a melancholy smile, "I must manage to be happy, without happiness. Let me try!"

And she did try. She once more arrayed herself in smiles, and again tookpart in the festivities which now were filling the halls of St. Cloud, Malmaison, and the Tuileries, and which, too, were but the dying lay ofthe swan of the republic, or, if you will, the cradle-song ofreviving monarchy. 

For things were daily sweeping nearer and nearer to that greatturning-point, at which the French people would have to choose between aseeming republic and a real monarchy. France was already a republic butin name; the new, approaching monarchy was, indeed, but a new-born, naked infant as yet, but only a bold hand was wanting, that shouldpossess the determined courage to clothe it with ermine and purple, inorder to transform the helpless babe into a proud, triumphant man. 

That courage Bonaparte possessed; but he had, also, the higher courageto advance carefully and slowly. He let the infant of monarchy, that laythere naked and helpless at his feet, shiver there a little longer; but, lest it should freeze altogether, he threw over it, for the time being, the mantle of his "consulship for life. " Beneath it, the babe couldslumber comfortably a few weeks longer, while waiting for itspurple robes. 

Bonaparte was now, by the will of the French people, consul for life. Hestood close to the steps of a throne, and it depended only upon himselfwhether he would mount those steps, or whether, like General Monk, hewould recall the fugitive king, and restore to him the sceptre of hisforefathers. The brothers of Bonaparte desired the first; Josephineimplored Heaven for the latter alternative. She was too completely aloving woman only, to long for the chilly joys of mere ambition; she wastoo entirely occupied with her personal happiness, not to fear everydanger that menaced it. Should Bonaparte place a crown upon his head, hewould also have to think of becoming the founder of a dynasty; and inorder to strengthen and fortify his position, he would have to place alegitimate heir by his side. Josephine had borne her husband nochildren; and she knew that his brothers had, more than once, proposedto him to dissolve his childless union, and replace it with the presenceof a young wife. Hence, Bonaparte's assumption of royal dignity meant aseparation from her; and Josephine still loved him too well, and toomuch with a young wife's love, to take so great a sacrifice upon her. 

Moreover, Josephine was at heart a royalist, and considered the Count deLille, who, after so many agitations and wanderings, had found an asylumat Hartwell, in England, the legitimate King of France. 

The letters which the Count de Lille (afterward King Louis XVIII. ) hadwritten to Bonaparte, had filled Josephine's heart with emotion, and, with a kind of apprehensive foreboding, she had conjured her husband to, at least, give the brother of the beheaded king a mild and considerateanswer. Yes, she had even ventured to beseech Bonaparte to comply withthe request that Louis had made, and give him back the throne of hisancestors. But Bonaparte had laughed at this suggestion, as he would atsome childish joke; for it had never entered into his head that any onecould seriously ask him to lay his laurels and his trophies at the footof a throne, which not he, but a member of that Bourbon family whomFrance had banished forever, should ascend. 

Louis had written to Bonaparte: "I cannot believe that the victor atLodi, Castiglione, and Arcola--the conqueror of Italy and Egypt--wouldnot prefer real glory to mere empty celebrity. Meanwhile, you are losingprecious time. _We_ can secure the glory of France; I say _we_, becauseI have need of Bonaparte in the work, and because he cannot complete itwithout me. "

But Bonaparte already felt strong enough to say, not "we, " but "I, " andto complete his work alone. Therefore, he replied to the Count de Lille:"You cannot desire your return to France, for you would have to enter itover a hundred thousand corpses; sacrifice your personal interests tothe tranquillity and happiness of France. History will pay you agrateful acknowledgment. "

Louis had said in his letter to Bonaparte, "Choose your own position, and mark out what you want for your friends. " And Bonaparte did choosehis position; but unfortunately for the Count de Lille, it was the veryone which the latter had wished to reserve for himself. 

Josephine would have been glad to vacate the king's place for him, couldshe but have retained her husband by so doing. She had no longings for adiadem which, by-the-way, her beautiful head did not require in order tocommand admiration. 

"You cannot avoid being a queen or an empress, one of these days, " saidBourrienne to her, on a certain occasion. 

Josephine replied, with tears: "_Mon Dieu_! I am far from cherishing anysuch ambition. So long as I live, to be the wife of Bonaparte--of thefirst consul--is the sum total of my wishes! Tell him so; conjure himnot to make himself king[12]. "

[Footnote 12: Bourrienne, vol. V. , p. 47. ]

But Josephine did not content herself with requesting Bourrienne to tellher husband this; she had the courage to say so to him herself. 

One day she went into Napoleon's cabinet, and found him at breakfast, and unusually cheerful and good-humored. She had entered without havingbeen announced, and crept up on tiptoe to her husband, who sat with hisback turned toward her, and had not yet noticed her. Lightly throwingher arm around his neck, and letting herself sink upon his breast, andthen stroking his pale cheeks and glossy brown hair, with an expressionof unutterable love and tenderness, she said:

"I implore you, Bonaparte, do not mount the throne. Your wicked brotherLucien will urge you to it, but do not listen to him. "

Bonaparte laughed. "You are a little goose, poor Josephine, " he said. "It's the old dowagers of the Faubourg St. Germain, and your LaRochefoucauld, more than all the rest, who tell you these wonderfulstories; but you worry me to death with them. Come, now, don't bother meabout them any more!"

Bonaparte had put off Josephine with a laugh and a jesting word, but henevertheless conversed earnestly and seriously with his most intimatepersonal friends on the subject of his assuming the crown. In the courseof one of these interviews, Bourrienne said to him:

"As first consul, you are the leading and most famous man in all Europe;whereas, if you place the crown upon your head, you will be only theyoungest in date of all the kings, and will have to yield precedenceto them. "

Bonaparte's eyes blazed up with fiercer fire, and, with that daring andimposing look which was peculiar to him in great and decisive moments, he responded:

"The youngest of the kings! Well, then, I will drive _all_ the kingsfrom their thrones, and found a new dynasty: then, they will have torecognize me as the oldest prince of all. "

CHAPTER IV. 

THE CALUMNY. 

The union of Hortense with Bonaparte's brother had not been followed bysuch good results for her as Josephine had anticipated. She had made amost unfortunate selection, for Louis Bonaparte was, of all the firstconsul's brothers, the one who concerned himself the least aboutpolitics, and was the least likely to engage in any intrigue. Besides, this alliance had materially diminished the affection which Louis hadalways previously manifested for Josephine. He blamed her, in the depthsof his noble and upright heart, for having been so egotistic as tosacrifice the happiness of her daughter to her own personal welfare; heblamed her, too, for having forced him into a marriage which love hadnot concluded, and, although he never sided with her enemies, Josephinehad, at least, lost a friend in him. 

The wedded life of this young couple was something unusually strange. They had openly confessed the repulsion they felt for each other, andreciprocally made no secret of the fact that they had been driven intothis union against their own wishes. In this singular interchange ofconfidence, they went so far as to commiserate each other, and tocondole with one another as friends, over the wretchedness they enduredin their married bondage. 

They said frankly to each other that they could never love; that theydetested one another: but they so keenly felt a mutual compassion, thatout of that very compassion--that very hatred itself--love mightpossibly spring into being. 

Louis could already sit for hours together beside his wife, busied withthe effort to divert her with amusing remarks, and to drive away theclouds that obscured her brow; already, too, Hortense had come to regardit as her holiest and sweetest duty to endeavor to compensate herhusband, by her kindly deportment toward him, and the delicate andattentive respect that distinguished her bearing, for the unhappiness hefelt beside her; already had both, in fine, begun to console each otherwith the reflection that the child which Hortense now bore beneath herheart would, one day, be to them a compensation for their ill-starredmarriage and their lost freedom. 

"When I present you with a son, " said Hortense, smiling, "and when hecalls you by the sweet name of 'father, ' you will forgive me for beinghis mother. "

"And when you press that son to your heart--when you feel that you lovehim with boundless affection, " said Louis, "you will pardon me for beingyour husband, and you will cease to hate me, at least, for I will be thefather of your darling child. "

Had sufficient time been allotted to these young, pure, and innocenthearts, to comprehend one another, they would have overcome theirunhappiness, and love would have sprung up at last from hatred. But theworld was pitiless to them; it had no compassion for their youth andtheir sufferings; with cruel hands it dashed away this tender blossomingof nascent affection, which was beginning to expand in their hearts. Josephine had wedded Hortense to her brother-in-law in order to securein him an ally in the family, and to keep her daughter by her side; andnow that daughter was made the target of insidious attacks and maliciouscalumnies--now another plan was adopted in order to remove Hortense fromthe scene. The conspirators had not succeeded in their designs by meansof a matrimonial alliance, so they would now try the effect of calumny. 

They went about whispering from ear to ear that Bonaparte had marriedhis step-daughter to his brother, simply because he was attached to herhimself, and had been jealous of Duroc. 

These slanders were carried so far as to hint that the child whose birthHortense expected was more nearly related to Bonaparte than merelythrough the fact that his step-daughter was his brother's wife. 

This was an infernal but skilfully-planned calumny; for those whodevised it well knew how Bonaparte detested the merest suspicion of suchimmorality, how strict he was in his own principles, and how repulsiveit therefore would be to him to find himself made the object of suchinfamous slanders. 

The conspirators calculated that, in order to terminate these evilrumors, the first consul would send his brother and Hortense away to adistance, and that the fated Josephine, being thus isolated, could alsobe the more readily removed. Thus Bonaparte, being separated from hisguardian angel, would no longer hear her whispering:

"Bonaparte, do not ascend the throne! Be content with the glory of thegreatest of mankind! Place no diadem upon thy brows; do not makethyself a king!"

In Paris, as I have said, these shameful calumnies were but very lightlywhispered, but abroad they were only the more loudly heard. Bonaparte'senemies got hold of the scandalous story, and made a weapon of it withwhich to assail him as a hero. 

One morning Bonaparte was reading an English newspaper which had alwaysbeen hostile to him, and which, as he well knew, was the organ of Countd'Artois, then residing at Hartwell. As he continued to read, a darkshadow stole over his face, and he crumpled the paper in his clinchedfist with a sudden and vehement motion. Then as suddenly again hiscountenance cleared, and a proud smile flitted across it. He had hismaster of ceremonies summoned to his presence, and bade him issue thenecessary invitations for a court ball to be given, on the evening ofthe next day, at St. Cloud. He then went to Josephine to inform her inperson of the projected _fête_, and to say that he wished her to tellHortense, who had been ailing for some time, that he particularlydesired her to be present. 

Hortense had been too long accustomed to obey her step-father'srequests, to venture a refusal. She rose, therefore, from her couch onwhich she had been in the habit, for weeks past, of reclining, busiedwith her own dreams and musings, and bade her waiting women prepare herattire for the ball. Still she felt unwell, and seriously burdened bythis festive attire, which harmonized so little with her feelings, andwas so far from becoming to her figure, for she was only a few weeksfrom her confinement; but with her gentle and yielding disposition shedid not venture, even in thought, to murmur at the compulsion imposedupon her by her step-father's command. She therefore repaired, at theappointed hour, to the ball at St. Cloud. Bonaparte stepped forward tomeet her with a friendly smile, and, instead of thanking her for comingat all, earnestly urged her to dance. 

Hortense gazed at him with amazement. She knew that hitherto Bonapartehad always sought to avoid the sight of a woman in her condition; he hadfrequently said that he thought there was nothing more indecent than fora female to join in the dance under such circumstances, and now it washe who asked her to do that very thing. 

For this reason Hortense hesitated at first to comply, but Bonapartegrew only the more pressing and vehement in his request. 

"You know how I like to see you dance, Hortense, " he said, with hisirresistible smile; "so do this much for me, even if you take the flooronly once, and that for but a single _contredance_. "

And Hortense, although most reluctant, although blushing with shame atthe idea of exposing herself in such unseemly shape to the gaze of all, obeyed and joined the dances. 

This took place in the evening--how greatly surprised, then, wasHortense when next morning she found, in the paper that she usuallyread, a poem, extolling her performance in words of ravishing flattery, and referring to the fact that, notwithstanding her advanced state ofpregnancy, she had consented to tread a measure in the _contredance_, asa peculiar trait of amiability!

Hortense, however, far from feeling flattered by this very emphaticpiece of verse, took it as an affront, and hastened at once to theTuileries, to complain to her mother, and to ask her how it was possiblethat, so early as the very next morning, there could be verses publishedin the newspapers concerning what had taken place at the ball on thepreceding evening. 

Bonaparte, who happened to be with Josephine when Hortense came in, andwas the first to be questioned by her, gave her only an evasive andjocose reply, and withdrew. Hortense then turned to her mother, who wasleaning over on the divan, her eyes reddened with weeping and her heartoppressed with grief. To her, Bonaparte had given no evasive answer, buthad told the whole truth, and Josephine's heart was at that moment toofull of wretchedness, too overladen with this fresh and bitter trouble, for her possibly to retain it within her own breast. 

Hortense insisted upon an explanation, and her mother gave it. She toldher that Bonaparte had got the poet Esmenard to write the versesbeforehand, and that it was for this reason that he had urged her todance; that he had ordered the ball for no other purpose than to haveher dance, and have the poem that complimented her and referred to herpregnancy published in the next day's paper. 

Then, when Hortense, in terror, begged to be informed of the ground forall these proceedings, Josephine had the cruel courage to tell her ofthe slanders that had been circulated in reference to herself andBonaparte, and to say that he had arranged the poem, the ball, and herparticipation in the dance, because, on the preceding day, he had readin an English journal the calumnious statement that Madame LouisBonaparte had safely given birth to a vigorous and healthy child someweeks previously, and he wished in this manner to refute the maliciousstatement. 

Hortense received this fresh wound with a cold smile of scorn. She hadnot a word of anger or indignation for this unheard-of injury, thisshameless slander; she neither wept nor complained, but, as she rose totake leave of her mother, she swooned away, and it required hours ofexertion to restore her to consciousness. 

A few weeks later, Hortense was delivered of a dead male infant, and sopassed away her last dream of happiness; for thus was destroyed the hopeof a better understanding between her and her husband. 

Hortense rose from her sick-bed with a firm, determined heart. In thoselong, lonely days that she had passed during her confinement, she hadthe time and opportunity to meditate on many things, and keenly toestimate her whole present position and probable future. She had nowbecome a mother, without having a child; yet the resolute energy of amother remained to her. The youthful, gentle, dreamy, enthusiastic girlhad now become transformed into a determined, active, energetic woman, that would no longer bow submissively to the blows of fortune, but wouldmeet them with an open and defiant brow. Since her fate could not bechanged, she accepted it, all the while resolved no longer to bend toits yoke, but to subdue it, and try to be happy by force of resolution;and, since a charming, peaceful, and harmonious fireside at home wasdenied her, to at least make her house a pleasant gathering-point forher friends--for men of scientific and artistic attainments, for poetsand singers, for painters and sculptors, and for men of learning. Erelong, all Paris was talking about Madame Louis Bonaparte'sdrawing-rooms, the agreeable and elegant entertainments that were giventhere, and the concerts there arranged, in which the first singers ofthe day executed pieces that Hortense had composed, and Talma recited, with his wonderful, sonorous voice, the poems that she had written. Every one was anxious for admission to these entertainments, in whichthe participants not merely performed their parts, but greatly enjoyedthemselves as well; where the guests indulged in no backbiting or abuse, but found more worthy and elevated subjects of conversation; where, infine, they could admire the works of poets and artists, and enjoy thenewly, awakened intellectual spirit of the age. 

Hortense had firmly made up her mind that, since she had resignedherself to accept the burden of existence, she would strive to render itas agreeable as possible, and not to see any of its hateful andrepulsive features, but to turn away from them with a noble anddisdainful pride. She had never even referred to the frightful calumnieswhich her mother had privately made known to her, nor had she deemed anydefence or proof of her innocence at all necessary. She felt that therewere certain accusations against which to even undertake defence is toadmit their possibility, and which, therefore, could only be combated bysilence. The slanders that had been flung at her lay in a plane so farbeneath her, that they could not rise high enough to reach her, but fellpowerless at her feet, whence she did not deem it even worth her whileto thrust them. 

But Bonaparte continued to feel outraged and wounded by this vile story, and it annoyed him deeply to learn that these rumors were still spreadabroad, and that his foes still bestirred themselves to keep him ever onthe alert, and, if possible, to dim the lustre of his gloriously-wonlaurels by the shadow of an infamous crime. 

"There are still rumors abroad of a _liaison_ between me and Hortense, "said he one day to Bourrienne. "They have even invented the mostrepulsive stories concerning her first infant. At the time, I thoughtthat these calumnies were circulated among the public because thelatter go earnestly desired that I might have a child to inherit myname. But it is still spoken of, is it not?"

"Yes, general, it is still spoken of; and I confess that I did notbelieve this calumny would be so long continued. "

"This is really abominable!" exclaimed Bonaparte, his eyes flashing withanger. "You, Bourrienne, you best know what truth there is in it. Youhave heard and seen all; not the smallest circumstance could escape you. You were her confidant in her love-affair with Duroc. I expect you toclear me of this infamous reproach if you should some day write myhistory. Posterity shall not associate my name with such infamy. I shalldepend on you, Bourrienne, and you will at least admit that you havenever believed in this abominable calumny?"

"No, never, general. "

"I shall rely on you, Bourrienne, not only on my own account, but forthe sake of poor Hortense. She is, without this, unhappy enough, as ismy brother also. I am concerned about this, because I love them both, and because this very circumstance gives color to the reports which idlechatterboxes have circulated regarding my relations to her. Therefore, bear this in mind when you write of me hereafter. "

"I shall do so, general; I shall tell the truth, but, unfortunately, Ican not compel the world to believe the truth. "

Bourrienne has, at all events, kept his word, and spoken the truth. With deep indignation he spurns the calumny with which it has beenattempted to sully the memory of Bonaparte and Hortense, even down toour time; and, in his anger, he even forgets the elegant and consideratelanguage of the courteous diplomat, which is elsewhere alwayscharacteristic of his writings. 

"He lies in his throat, " says Bourrienne, "who asserts that Bonaparteentertained other feelings for Hortense than those a step-father shouldentertain for his step-daughter! Hortense entertained for the firstconsul a feeling of reverential fear. She always spoke to himtremblingly. She never ventured to approach him with a petition. She wasin the habit of coming to me, and I then submitted her wishes; and onlywhen Bonaparte received them unfavorably did I mention the name of thepetitioner. 'The silly thing!' said the first consul; 'why does she notspeak to me herself? Is she afraid of me?' Napoleon always entertained afatherly affection for her; since his marriage, he loved her as a fatherwould have loved his child. I, who for years was a witness of heractions in the most private relations of life, I declare that I havenever seen or heard the slightest circumstance that would tend toconvict her of a criminal intimacy. One must consider this calumny asbelonging to the category of those which malice so willingly circulatesabout those persons whose career has been brilliant, and which credulityand envy so willingly believe. I declare candidly that, if I entertainedthe slightest doubt with regard to this horrible calumny, I would sayso. But Bonaparte is no more! Impartial history must not and shall notgive countenance to this reproach; she should not make of a father andfriend a libertine! Malicious and hostile authors have asserted, without, however, adducing any proof, that a criminal intimacy existedbetween Bonaparte and Hortense. A falsehood, an unworthy falsehood! Andthis report has been generally current, not only in France, butthroughout all Europe. Alas! can it, then, be true that calumnyexercises so mighty a charm that, when it has once taken possession of aman, he can never be freed from it again?"

CHAPTER V. 

KING OR EMPEROR. 

Josephine's entreaties had been fruitless, or Bonaparte had, at least, only yielded to them in their literal sense. She had said: "I entreatyou, do not make yourself a king!" Bonaparte did not make himself king, he made himself emperor. He did not take up the crown that had fallenfrom the head of the Bourbons; he created a new one for himself--a crownwhich the French people and Senate had, however, offered him. Therevolution still stood a threatening spectre behind the French people;its return was feared, and, since the discovery of the conspiracy ofGeorges, Moreau, and Pichegru, the people anxiously asked themselveswhat was to become of France if the conspirators should succeed inmurdering Bonaparte; and when the republic should again be sent adrift, without a pilot, on the wild sea of revolution. The people demanded thattheir institutions should be securely established and maintained, andbelieved that this could only be accomplished by a dynasty--by amonarchical form of government. The consulate for life must therefore bechanged into an hereditary empire. Had not Bonaparte himself said: "Onecan be emperor of a republic, but not king of a republic; these twoterms are incompatible!" They desired to make Napoleon emperor, becausethey flattered themselves that in so doing they should still be able topreserve the republic. 

On the 18th of May, of the year 1804, the plan that had been so long andcarefully prepared was carried into execution. On the 18th of May, theSenate repaired to St. Cloud, to entreat Bonaparte, in the name of thepeople and army, to accept the imperial dignity, and exchange the Romanchair of a consul for the French throne of an emperor. 

Cambacérès, the late second consul of the republic, stood at the head ofthe Senate, and upon him devolved the duty of imparting to Bonaparte thewishes of the French people. Cambacérès--who, as a member of theConvention, had voted for the condemnation of Louis XVI. , in order thatroyalty should be forever banished from French soil--this sameCambacérès, was now the first to salute Bonaparte with "imperialmajesty, " and with the little word, so full of significance, "sire. " Herewarded Cambacérès, for this by writing to him on the game day, andappointing him high constable of the empire, as the first act of hisimperial rule. In this letter, the first document in which Bonapartesigned himself merely Napoleon, the emperor retained the republicanstyle of writing. He addressed Cambacérès, as "citizen consul, " andfollowed the revolutionary method of reckoning time, his letter beingdated "the 20th Floréal, of the year 12. "

The second act of the emperor, on the first day of his new dignity, wasto invest the members of his family also with new dignities, and toconfer upon them the rank of Princes of France, with the title "imperialhighness. " Moreover, he made his brother Joseph prince elector, and hisbrother Louis connétable. On the same day it devolved upon Louis, in hisnew dignity, to present the generals and staff officers to the emperor, and then to conduct them to the empress--the Empress Josephine. 

The prophecy of the negress of Martinique was now fulfilled. Josephinewas "more than a queen. " But Josephine, in the midst of the splendor ofher new dignity, could only think, with an anxious heart, of theprophecy of the clairvoyante of Paris, who had told her, "You will weara crown, but only for a short time. " She felt that this wondrous fortunecould not last long--that the new emperor would have to do as the kingsor old had done, and sacrifice his dearest possession to Fate, in orderto appease the hungry demons of vengeance and envy; and that he would, therefore, sacrifice her, in order to secure the perpetuity of hisfortune and dynasty. 

It was this that weighed down the heart of the new empress, and made hershrink in alarm from her new grandeur. It was, therefore, with a feelingof deep anxiety that she took possession of the new titles and honorsthat Fate had showered upon her, as from an inexhaustible horn ofplenty. With a degree of alarm, and almost with shame, she heard herselfaddressed with the titles with which she had addressed the Queen ofFrance years before, in these same halls, when she came to the Tuileriesas Marquise de Beauharnais, to do homage to the beautiful MarieAntoinette. She had died on the scaffold and now Josephine was the"majesty" that sat enthroned in the Tuileries, her brilliant courtassembled around her, while in a retired nook of England the legitimateKing of France was leading a lonely and gloomy life. 

Josephine, as we have said, was a good royalist; and, as empress, shestill mourned over the fate of the unfortunate Bourbons, and esteemed ither sacred duty to assist and advise those who, true to their principlesand duties, had followed the royal family, or had emigrated, in orderthat they might, at least, not be compelled to do homage to the newsystem. Her purse was always at the service of the emigrants; and, ifJosephine continually made debts, in spite of her enormous monthlyallowance, her extravagance was not alone the cause, but also herkindly, generous heart; for she was in the habit of setting apart thehalf of her monthly income for the relief of poor emigrants, and, nomatter how great her own embarrassment, or how pressing her creditors, she never suffered the amount devoted to the relief of misfortune andthe reward of fidelity to be applied to any other purpose[13]. 

[Footnote 13: Mémoires sur la reine Hortense, par le Baron van Schelten, vol. I. , p. 145. ]

Now that Josephine was an empress, her daughter, the wife of the HighConstable of France, took the second position at the brilliant court ofthe emperor. The daughter of the beheaded viscount was now a "Princessof France, " an "imperial highness, " who must be approached withreverence, who had her court and her maids of honor, and whose libertyand personal inclinations, as was also the case with her mother, wereconfined in the fetters of the strict etiquette which Napoleon requiredto be observed at the new imperial court. 

But neither Josephine nor Hortense allowed herself to be blinded by thisnew splendor. A crown could confer upon Josephine no additionalhappiness; glittering titles could neither enhance Hortense's youth andbeauty, nor alleviate her secret misery. She would have been contentedto live in retirement, at the side of a beloved husband; her proudposition could not indemnify her for her lost woman's happiness. 

But Fate seemed to pity the noble, gentle being, who knew how to bearmisery and grandeur with the same smiling dignity, and offered her arecompense for the overthrow of her first mother's hope--a newhope--she promised to become a mother again. 

Josephine received this intelligence with delight, for her daughter'shope was a hope for her too. If Hortense should give birth to a son, thegods might be reconciled, and misfortune be banished from the head ofthe empress. With this son, the dynasty of the new imperial family wouldbe assured; this son could be the heir of the imperial crown, andNapoleon could well adopt as his own the child who was at the same timehis nephew and his grandson. 

Napoleon promised Josephine that he would do this; that he would rathercontent himself with an adopted son, in whom the blood of the emperorand of the empress was mixed, than be compelled to separate himself fromher, from his Josephine. Napoleon still loved his wife; he stillcompared with all he thought good and beautiful, the woman who shedaround his grandeur the lustre of her grace and loveliness. 

When the people greeted their new emperor with loud cries of joy andthunders of applause, Napoleon, his countenance illumined withexultation, exclaimed: "How glorious a music is this! These acclamationsand greetings sound as sweet and soft as the voice of Josephine! Howproud and happy I am, to be loved by such a people[14]!"

[Footnote 14: Bourrienne, vol. Iv. , p. 288. ]

But his proud ambition was not yet sated. As he bad once said, uponentering the Tuileries as first consul, "It is not enough to _be_ inthe Tuileries; one must also _remain_ there"--he now said: "It is notenough to have been made emperor by the French people; one must alsohave received his consecration as emperor from the Pope of Rome. "

And Napoleon was now mighty enough to give laws to the world; not onlyto bend France, but also foreign sovereigns, to his will. 

Napoleon desired for his crown the papal consecration; and the Pope leftthe holy city and repaired to Paris, to give the new emperor theblessing of the Church in the Cathedral of Notre-Dame. This was a newhalo around Napoleon's head--a new, an unbounded triumph, which hecelebrated over France, over the whole world and its prejudices, andover all the dynasties by the "grace of God. " The Pope came to Paris tocrown the emperor. The German emperors had been compelled to make apilgrimage to Rome, to receive the papal benediction, and now the Popemade a pilgrimage to Paris to crown the French emperor, and acknowledgethe son of the Revolution as the consecrated son of the Church. AllFrance was intoxicated with delight at this intelligence; all Franceadored the hero, who made of the wonders of fiction a reality, andconverted even the holy chair at Rome into the footstool of hisgrandeur. Napoleon's journey with Josephine through France, undertakenwhile they awaited the Pope's coming, was, therefore, a single, continuous triumph. It was not only the people who received him withshouts of joy, but the Church also sang to him, everywhere, her_sanctus, sanctus_, and the priests received him at the doors of theirchurches with loud benedictions, extolling him as the savior of France. Everywhere, the imperial couple was received with universal exultation, with the ringing of bells, with triumphal arches, and solemn addressesof welcome, the latter partaking sometimes of a transcendental nature. 

"God created Bonaparte, " said the Prefect of Arras, in his enthusiasticaddress to the emperor--"God created Bonaparte, and then He rested. "And Count Louis of Narbonne, at that time not yet won over by theemperor, and not yet grand-marshal of the imperial court, whispered, quite audibly: "God would have done better had He rested alittle sooner!"

Finally, the intelligence overran all France, that the wonder, in whichthey had not yet dared to believe, had become reality, and that PopePius VII. Had crossed the boundaries of France, and was now approachingthe capital. The Holy Father of the Church, that had now arisenvictoriously from the ruins of the revolution, was everywhere receivedby the people and authorities with the greatest honor. The old royalpalace at Fontainebleau had, by order of the emperor, been refurnishedwith imperial magnificence, and, as a peculiarly delicate attention, thePope's bedchamber had been arranged in exact imitation of his bedchamberin the Quirinal at Home. The emperor, empress, and their suite, nowrepaired to Fontainebleau, to receive Pope Pius VII. The whole ceremonyhad, however, been previously arranged, and understanding had with thePope concerning the various questions of etiquette. In conformity withthis prearranged ceremony, when the couriers announced the approach ofthe Pope, Napoleon rode out to the chase, to give himself the appearanceof meeting the Pope accidentally on his way. The equipages and theimperial court had taken position in the forest of Nemours. Napoleon, however, attired in hunting-dress, rode, with his suite, to the summitof a little hill, which the Pope's carriage had just reached. The Popeat once ordered a halt, and the emperor also brought his suite to astand with a gesture of his hand. A brief interval of profound silencefollowed. All felt that a great historical event was taking place, andthe eyes of all were fastened in wondering expectation on the two chieffigures of this scene--on the emperor, who sat there on his horse, inhis simple huntsman's attire; and on the Pope, in his gold-embroideredrobes, leaning back in his equipage, drawn by six horses. 

As Napoleon dismounted, the Pope hastened to descend from his carriage, hesitating a moment, however, after he had already placed his foot onthe carriage-step; but Napoleon's foot had already touched the earth. Pius could, therefore, no longer hesitate; he must make up his mind tostep, in his white, gold-embroidered satin slippers, on the wet soil, softened by a shower of rain, that had fallen on the previous day. Theemperor's hunting-boots were certainly much better adapted to thismeeting in the mud than the Pope's white satin slippers. 

Emperor and Pope approached and embraced each other tenderly; then, through the inattention of the coachmen, seemingly, the imperialequipage was set in motion, and, in its rapid advance, interrupted thistender embrace. It seemed to be the merest accident that the emperorstood on the right, and the Pope on the left side of the equipage, thathad now been brought to a stand again. The two doors of the carriagewere simultaneously thrown open by the lackeys; at the same time, thePope entered the carriage on the left, and the emperor on the rightside, both seating themselves side by side at the same time. Thissettled the question of etiquette. Neither had preceded the other, butthe emperor occupied the seat of honor on the Pope's right. 

The coronation of the imperial pair took place on the 2d of December, 1804, in the Cathedral of Notre-Dame. Not only all Paris, but allFrance, was in motion on this day. An immense concourse of people surgedto and fro in the streets; the windows of all the houses were filledwith richly-adorned and beautiful women, the bells were ringing in allthe churches, and joyous music, intermixed with the shouts of thepeople, was heard in every direction. For a moment, however, theseshouts were changed into laughter, and that was when the papalprocession approached, headed by an ass led by the halter, in accordancewith an ancient custom of Rome. While the Pope, with the highdignitaries of the Church, repaired to the cathedral to await there thecoming of the imperial couple, Napoleon was putting on the imperialinsignia in the Tuileries, enveloping himself in the green velvetmantle, bordered with ermine, and thickly studded with brilliants, andarraying himself in the whole glittering paraphernalia of his newdignity. When already on the point of leaving the Tuileries with hiswife, who stood at his side in her imperial attire, Bonaparte suddenlygave the order that the notary Ragideau should be called to the palace, as he desired to see him at once. 

A messenger was at once sent, in an imperial equipage, to bring him fromhis dwelling, and in a quarter of an hour the little notary Ragideauentered the cabinet of the empress, in which the imperial pair werealone, awaiting him in their glittering attire. 

His eyes beaming, a triumphant smile on his lips, Napoleon steppedforward to meet the little notary. "Well, Master Ragideau, " said he, gayly, "I have had you called, merely to ask you whether GeneralBonaparte really possesses nothing besides his hat and his sword, orwhether you will now forgive Viscountess Beauharnais for having marriedme;" and, as Ragideau looked at him in astonishment, and Josephine askedthe meaning of his strange words, Bonaparte related how, while standingin Ragideau's antechamber on a certain occasion, he had heard the notaryadvising Josephine not to marry poor little Bonaparte; not to become thewife of the general, who possessed nothing but his hat and his sword. 

The notary's words had entered the ambitious young man's heart like adagger, and had wounded him deeply. But he had uttered no complaint, andmade no mention of it; but to-day, on the day of his supreme triumph, to-day the emperor remembered that moment of humiliation, and, arrayedwith the full insignia of the highest earthly dignity, he accordedhimself the triumph of reminding the little notary that he had onceadvised Josephine not to marry him, because of his poverty. 

The poor General Bonaparte had now transformed himself into the mightyEmperor Napoleon. Then he possessed nothing but his hat and his sword, but now the Pope awaited him in the cathedral of Notre-Dame, to placethe golden imperial crown on his head. 

CHAPTER VI. 

NAPOLEON'S HEIR. 

Hortense had not been able to take any part in the festivities of thecoronation; but another festivity had been prepared for her in theretirement of her apartments. She had given birth to a son; and in thischild the happy mother found consolation and a new hope. 

Josephine, who had assumed the imperial crown with a feeling offoreboding sadness, received the intelligence of the birth of hergrandson with exultation. It seemed to her that the clouds that had beengathering over her head were now dissipated, and that a day ofunclouded sunshine now smiled down upon her. Hortense had assured hermother's future; she had given birth to a son, and had thus given afirst support to the new imperial dynasty. There was now no longer areason why Napoleon should entertain the thoughts of a separation, forthere was a son to whom he could one day bequeath the imperial throneof France. 

The emperor also seemed to be disposed to favor Josephine's wishes, andto adopt his brother's son as his own. Had he not requested the Pope todelay his departure for a few days, in order to baptize the child? ThePope performed this sacred rite at St. Cloud, the emperor holding thechild, and Madame Letitia standing at his side as second witness. Hortense now possessed an object upon which she could lavish the wholewealth of love that had until now lain concealed in her heart. Thelittle Napoleon Charles was Hortense's first happy love; and she gaveway to this intoxicating feeling with the most intense delight. 

Josephine's house was now her home in the fullest sense of the word; sheno longer shared her home with her husband, and could now bestow herundivided love and care upon her child. Louis Napoleon, theGrand-Constable of France, had been appointed Governor of Piedmont byNapoleon; and Hortense, owing to her delicate health, had not beencompelled to accompany him, but had been permitted to remain in herlittle house in Paris, which she could exchange when summer came forher husband's new estate, the castle of Saint-Leu. 

But the tranquillity which Josephine enjoyed with her child in thischarming country-resort was to be of short duration. The brother andsister-in-law of the emperor could not hope to be permitted to lead alife of retirement. They were rays of the sun that now dazzled the wholeworld; they must fulfil their destiny, and contribute their light to theruling sun. 

An order of Napoleon recalled the constable, who had returned fromPiedmont a short time before, and repaired to Saint-Leu to see his son, to Paris. Napoleon had appointed his brother to a brilliant destiny; theConstable of France was to become a king. Delegates of the Republic ofBatavia, the late Holland, had arrived in Paris, and requested theirmighty neighbor, the Emperor Napoleon, to give them a king, who shouldunite them with the glittering empire, through the ties of blood. Napoleon intended to fulfil their wishes, and present them with a king, in the person of his brother Louis. 

But Louis was rather appalled than dazzled by this offer, and refused toaccept the proposed dignity. In this refusal he was also in perfectharmony with his wife, who did all in her power to strengthen hisresolution. Both felt that the crown which it was proposed to place ontheir heads would be nothing more than a golden chain of dependence;that the King of Holland could be nothing more than the vassal ofFrance; and their personal relations to each other added anotherobjection to this political consideration. 

In Paris, husband and wife could forget the chain that bound themtogether; there they were in the circle of their friends, and couldavoid each other. The great, glittering imperial court served toseparate and reconcile the young couple, who had never forgiventhemselves for having fettered each other in this involuntary union. InParis they had amusements, friends, society; while in Holland they wouldlive in entire dependence on each other, and hear continually therattling of the chain with which each had bound the other to the galleyof a union without love. 

Both felt this, and both were, therefore, united in the endeavor to wardoff this new misfortune that was suspended over their heads, in the formof a kingly crown. 

But how could they resist successfully the iron will of Napoleon?Hortense had never had the courage to address Napoleon directly on thesubject of her wishes and petitions, and Josephine already felt that herwishes no longer exercised the power of earlier days over the emperor. She therefore avoided interceding where she was not sure of beingsuccessful. 

At the outset, Louis had the courage to resist his brother openly; butNapoleon's angry glance annihilated his opposition, and his gentle, yielding nature was forced to succumb. In the presence of the deputationof the Batavian Republic, that so ardently longed for a sceptre andcrown, Napoleon appealed to his brother Louis to accept the crown whichhad been freely tendered him, and to be to his country a king who wouldrespect and protect its liberties, its laws, and its religion. 

With emotion, Louis Bonaparte declared himself ready to accept thiscrown, and to be a good and true ruler to his new country. 

And to keep this oath faithfully was from this time the single andsacred endeavor to which he devoted his every thought and energy. Thepeople of Holland having chosen him to be their king, he was determinedto do honor to their choice; having been compelled to give up his owncountry and nationality, he determined to belong to his new country withhis whole heart and being--to become a thorough Hollander, as he couldno longer remain a Frenchman. 

This heretofore so gentle and passive nature now developed an entirelynew energy; this dreamer, this pale, silent brother of the emperor, wasnow suddenly transformed into a bold, self-reliant man of action, whohad fixed his gaze on a noble aim, and was ready to devote all thepowers of his being to its attainment. As King of Holland, he desired, above all, to be beloved by his subjects, and to be able to contributeto their welfare and happiness. He studied their language with untiringdiligence, and made himself acquainted with their manners and customs, for the purpose of making them his own. He investigated the sources oftheir wealth and of their wants, and sought to develop the former andrelieve the latter. He was restless in his efforts to provide for hiscountry, and to merit the love and confidence which his subjectsbestowed on him. 

His wife also exerted herself to do justice to her new and glitteringposition, and to wear worthily the crown which she had so unwillinglyaccepted. In her drawing-rooms she brought together, at brilliantentertainments, the old aristocracy and the new nobility of Holland, andtaught the stiff society of that country the fine, unconstrained tone, and the vivacious intellectual conversation of Parisian society. It wasunder Hortense's fostering hand that art and science first made theirway into the aristocratic parlors of Holland, giving to their socialreunions a higher and nobler importance. 

And Hortense was not only the protectress of art and science, but alsothe mother of the poor, the ministering angel of the unhappy, whosetears she dried, and whose misery she alleviated--and this royal pair, though adored and blessed by their subjects, could not find within theirpalaces the least reflection of the happiness they so well knew how toconfer upon others without its walls. Between these two beings, sogentle and yielding to others, a strange antipathy continued to exist, and not even the birth of a second, and of a third, son could fill upthe chasm that separated them. 

And this chasm was soon to be broadened by a new blow of destiny. Hortense's eldest, the adopted son of Napoleon, the presumptive heir tohis throne, the child that Napoleon loved so dearly that he often playedwith him for hours on the terraces of St. Cloud, the child Josephineworshipped, because its existence seemed to assure her own happiness, the child that had awakened the first feeling of motherly bliss inHortense's bosom, the child that had often even consoled Louis Bonapartefor the unenjoyable present with bright hopes for the future--the littleNapoleon Charles died in the year 1807, of the measles. 

This was a terrific blow that struck the parents, and the imperial pairof France with equal force. Napoleon's eyes filled with tears when thisintelligence was brought him, and a cry of horror escapedJosephine's lips. 

"Now I am lost!" she murmured in a low voice; "now my fate is decided. He will put me away. "

But after this first egotistical outburst of her own pain, she hastenedto the Hague to weep with her daughter, and bring her away from theplace associated with her loss and her anguish. Hortense returned withthe empress to St. Cloud; while her husband, who had almost succumbed tohis grief, was compelled to seek renewed health in the baths of thePyrenees. The royal palace at the Hague now stood desolate again; deathhad banished life and joy from its halls; and, though the royal pairwere subsequently compelled to return to it, joy and happiness came backwith them no more. 

King Louis had returned from the Pyrenees in a more gloomy andill-natured frame of mind than ever; a sickly distrust, a repulsiveirritability, had taken possession of his whole being, and his youngwife no longer had the good-will to bear with his caprices, and excusehis irritable disposition. They were totally different in their views, desires, inclinations, and aspirations; and their children, instead ofbeing a means of reuniting, seemed to estrange them the more, for eachinsisted on considering them his or her exclusive property, and inhaving them educated according to his or her views and wishes. 

But Hortense was soon to forget her own household troubles and cares, inthe greater misery of her mother. A letter from Josephine, an agonizedappeal to her daughter for consolation, recalled Hortense to hermother's side, and she left the Hague and hastened to Paris. 

CHAPTER VII. 

PREMONITIONS. 

Josephine's fears, and the prophecies of the French clairvoyante, werenow about to be fulfilled. The crown which Josephine had reluctantly andsorrowfully accepted, and which she had afterward worn with so muchgrace and amiability, with such natural majesty and dignity, was aboutto fall from her head. Napoleon had the cruel courage, now that thedreamed-of future had been realized, to put away from him the woman whohad loved him and chosen him when he had nothing to offer her but hishopes for the future. Josephine, who, with smiling courage and bravefidelity, had stood at his side in the times of want and humiliation, was now to be banished from his side into the isolation of a glitteringwidowhood. Napoleon had the courage to determine that this should bedone, but he lacked the courage to break it to Josephine, and topronounce the word of separation himself. He was determined to sacrificeto his ambition the woman he had so long called his "good angel;" andhe, who had never trembled in battle, trembled at the thought of hertears, and avoided meeting her sad, entreating gaze. 

But Josephine divined the whole terrible misfortune that hungthreateningly over her head. She read it in the gloomy, avertedcountenance of the emperor, who, since his recent return from Vienna, had caused the door that connected his room with that of his wife to belocked; she read it in the faces of the courtiers, who dared to addressher with less reverence, but with a touch of compassionate sympathy; sheheard it in the low whispering that ceased when she approached a groupof persons in her parlors; it was betrayed to her in the covert, mysterious insinuations of the public press, which attached a deep andcomprehensive significance to the emperor's journey to Vienna. 

She knew that her destiny must now be fulfilled, and that she was tooweak to offer any resistance. But she was determined to act her part aswife and empress worthily to the end. Her tears should not flowoutwardly, but inwardly to her grief-stricken heart; she suppressed hersighs with a smile, and concealed the pallor of her cheeks with rouge. But she longed for a heart to whom she could confide her anguish, andshow her tears, and therefore called her daughter to her side. 

How painful was this reunion of mother and daughter, how many tears wereshed, how bitter were the lamentations Josephine whispered in herdaughter's ear!

"If you knew, " said she, "in what torments I have passed the last fewweeks, in which I was no longer his wife, although compelled to appearbefore the world as such! What glances, Hortense, what glances courtiersfasten upon a discarded woman! In what uncertainty, what expectancy morecruel than death, have I lived and am I still living, awaiting thelightning stroke that has long glowed in Napoleon's eyes[15]!"

[Footnote 15: Josephine's own words. --Bourrienne, vol. Viii. , p. 243. ]

Hortense listened to her mother's lamentations with a heart full ofbitterness. She thought of how she had been compelled to sacrifice herown happiness to that of her mother, of how she had been condemned to aunion without love, in order that the happiness of her mother's unionmight be established on a firm basis. And now all had been in vain; thesacrifice had not sufficed to arrest the tide of misfortune now about tobear down her unhappy mother. Hortense could do nothing to avert it. Shewas a queen, and yet only a weak, pitiable woman, who envied the beggaron the street her freedom and her humble lot. Both mother and daughterstood on the summit of earthly magnificence, and yet this empress andthis queen felt themselves so poor and miserable, that they looked backwith envy at the days of the revolution--the days in which they had ledin retirement a life of poverty and want. Then, though struggling withwant and care, they had been rich in hopes, in wishes, in illusions;now, they possessed all that could adorn life; now millions of men boweddown to them, and saluted them with the proud word "majesty, " and yetempress and queen were now poor in hopes and wishes, poor in theillusions that lay shattered at their feet, and rejoicing only in theone happiness, that of being able to confide their misery to each other. 

A few days after her arrival, the emperor caused Hortense to be calledto his cabinet. He advanced toward her with vivacity, but before thegaze of her large eyes the glance of the man before whom the whole worldnow bowed, almost quailed. 

"Hortense, " said he, "we are now called on to decide an importantmatter, and it is our duty not to recoil. The nation has done so muchfor me and my family, that I owe them the sacrifice which they demand ofme. The tranquillity and welfare of France require that I shall choose awife who can give the country an heir to the throne. Josephine has beenliving in suspense and anguish for six months, and this must end. You, Hortense, are her dearest friend and her confidante; she loves you morethan all else in the world. Will you undertake to prepare your motherfor this step? You would thereby relieve my heart of a heavy burden. "

Hortense had the strength to suppress her tears, and fasten her eyes onthe emperor's countenance in a firm, determined gaze. His glance againquailed, as the lion recoils from the angry glance of a pure, innocentwoman. Hortense had the courage to positively refuse theemperors request. 

"How, Hortense!" exclaimed Napoleon with emotion. "You then refuse myrequest?"

"Sire, " said she, hardly able longer to restrain her tears, "sire, Ihave not the strength to stab my mother to the heart[16]. "

[Footnote 16: Schelten, vol. Ii. , p. 45. ]

And regardless of etiquette, Hortense turned away and left the emperor'scabinet, the tears pouring in streams from her eyes. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE DIVORCE. 

Napoleon made one other attempt to impart to Josephine, through a thirdperson, the distressing tidings of his determination with regard toherself. He begged Eugene, the Viceroy of Italy, to come to Paris, andon his arrival informed him of his intentions and of his wish. Eugene, like his sister, received this intelligence in silent submissiveness, but like his sister, he refused to impart to his mother, tidings thatmust destroy her happiness forever. 

The emperor had finally to make up his mind to impart the distressingtidings in person. 

It was on the 30th of November, 1809. The emperor and empress dined, asusual, at the same table. His gloomy aspect on entering the room madeJosephine's heart quake; she read in his countenance that the fatal hourhad come. But she repressed the tears which were rushing to her eyes, and looked entreatingly at her daughter, who sat on the opposite side ofthe table, a deathly pallor on her countenance. 

Not a word was spoken during this gloomy, ominous dinner. The sighs andhalf-suppressed moaning that escaped Josephine's heaving breast werequite audible. Without, the wind shrieked and howled dismally, and drovethe rain violently against the window-panes; within, an ominous, oppressive silence prevailed. The commotion of Nature contrasted, andyet, at the same time, harmonized strangely with this human silence. Napoleon broke this silence but once, and that was when, in a harshvoice, he asked the lackey, who stood behind him, what time it was. Thenall was still as before. 

At last Napoleon gave the signal to rise from the table, and coffee wasthen taken standing. Napoleon drank hastily, and then set the cup downwith a trembling hand, making it ring out as it touched the table. Withan angry gesture he dismissed the attendants. 

"Sire, may Hortense remain?" asked Josephine, almost inaudibly. 

"No!" exclaimed the emperor, vehemently. Hortense made a profoundobeisance, and, taking leave of her mother with a look of tendercompassion, left the room, followed by the rest. 

The imperial pair were now alone. And how horrible was this being leftalone under the circumstances; how sad the silence in which they satopposite each other! How strange the glance which the emperor fastenedon his wife!

She read in his excited, quivering features the struggle that moved hissoul, but she also read in them that her hour was come!

As he now approached her, his outstretched hand trembled, and Josephineshudderingly recoiled. 

Napoleon took her hand in his, and laid it on his heart, regarding herwith a long and sorrowful farewell-glance. 

"Josephine, " said he, his voice trembling with emotion, "my goodJosephine, you know that I have loved you! To you, and to you alone, doI owe the only moments of happiness I have enjoyed in this world. Josephine, my destiny is stronger than my will. My dearest desires mustyield to the interests of France[17]. "

[Footnote 17: The emperor's own words. See Bourrienne, vol. Iii. , p. 344. ]

"Speak no further, " cried Josephine, withdrawing her hand angrily--"no, speak no further. I understand you, and I expected this, but the blow isnot the less deadly. "

She could speak no further, her voice failed. A feeling of despair cameover her; the long-repressed storm of agony at last broke forth. Shewept, she wrung her hands; groans escaped her heaving breast, and a loudcry of anguish burst from her lips. She at last fainted away, and wasthus relieved from a consciousness of her sufferings. 

When she awoke she found herself on her bed, and Hortense and herphysician Corvisart at her side. Josephine stretched out her tremblingarms toward her daughter, who threw herself on her mother's heart, sobbing bitterly. Corvisart silently withdrew, feeling that he could beof no further assistance. It had only been in his power to recallJosephine to a consciousness of her misery; but for her misery itself hehad no medicine; he knew that her tears and her daughter's sympathycould alone give relief. 

Josephine lay weeping in her daughter's arms, when Napoleon came in toinquire after her condition. As he seated himself at her bedside, sheshrank back with a feeling of horror, her tears ceased to flow, and herusually so mild and joyous eyes now shot glances of anger and offendedlove at the emperor. But love soon conquered anger. She extended hertremulous hand to Napoleon; the sad, sweet smile, peculiar to woman, trembled on her lips, and, in a gentle, touching voice, she said: "WasI not right, my friend, when I shrank back in terror from the thought ofbecoming an empress[18]?"

[Footnote 18: Josephine's own narrative. See Bourrienne, vol. Iii. , p. 342, _et seq_. ]

Napoleon made no reply. He turned away and wept. But these farewelltears of his love could not change Josephine's fate; the emperor hadalready determined it irrevocably. His demand of the hand of theArchduchess Marie Louise had already been acceded to in Vienna. Nothingnow remained to be done but to remove Josephine from the throne, andelevate a new, a legitimate empress, to the vacant place!

The emperor could not and would not retrace his steps. He assembledabout him all his brothers, all the kings, dukes, and princes, createdby his mighty will, and in the state-chambers of the Tuileries, in thepresence of his court and the Senate, the emperor appeared; at his sidethe empress, arrayed for the last time in all the insignia of thedignity she was about to lay aside forever. 

In a loud, firm voice the emperor declared to the assembly hisdetermination to divorce himself from his wife; and Josephine, in atrembling voice, often interrupted by tears, repeated her husband'swords. The arch-chancellor, Cambacérès, then caused the appropriateparagraph of the _Code Civile_ to be read, applied it to the case underconsideration, in a short, terse address, and pronounced the union ofthe emperor and empress dissolved. 

This ended the ceremony, and satisfied the requirements of the law. Josephine had now only to take leave of her husband and of the court, and she did this with the gentle, angelic composure, in the graceful, sweet manner, which was hers in a degree possessed by few other women. 

As she bowed profoundly to Napoleon, her pale face illumined by inwardemotion, his lips murmured a few inaudible words, and his ironcountenance quivered for an instant with pain. As she then walkedthrough the chamber, her children, Hortense and Eugene, on either side, and greeted all with a last soft look, a last inclination of the head, nothing could be heard but weeping, and even those who rejoiced over herdownfall, because they hoped much from the new empress and the newdynasty, were now moved to tears by this silent and yet so eloquentleave-taking. 

The sacrifice was accomplished. Napoleon had sacrificed his dearestpossession to ambition; he had divorced himself from Josephine. 

On the same day she left the Tuileries to repair to Malmaison, herfuture home--to Malmaison, that had once been the paradise, and was nowto be the widow's seat, of her love. 

Josephine left the court, but the hearts of those who constituted thiscourt did not leave her. During the next few weeks the crowds of thecoming and going on the road from Paris to Malmaison presented theappearance of a procession; the equipages of all the kings and princeswho were sojourning in Paris, and of all the nobles and dignitaries ofthe new France, were to be seen there. Even the Faubourg St. -Germain, that still preserved its sympathy for the Bourbons, repaired to theempress at Malmaison. And this pilgrimage was made by the poor andhumble, as well as by the rich and great. All wished to say to theempress that they still loved and honored her, and that she was stillenthroned in their hearts, although her rule on the throne was atan end. 

The whole people mourned with Josephine and her children. It waswhispered about that Napoleon's star would now grow pale; that, withJosephine, his good angel had left him, and that the future would avengeher tears. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE KING OF HOLLAND. 

While Josephine was weeping over her divorce at Malmaison, Hortense wasseeking one for herself. A divorce which her mother lamented as amisfortune, because she still loved her husband, would have conferredhappiness upon Hortense, who never had loved her husband. Once again inharmony with her husband, Hortense entreated the emperor to permit themto be divorced, and the king united his entreaties with those ofthe queen. 

But Napoleon was unrelenting. His family should not appear before thepeople as disregarding the sanctity of the marriage bond. For statereasons he had separated from his wife, and for state reasons he couldnot give his consent to the dissolution of the union of his brother andstep-daughter. They must, therefore, continue to drag the chain thatunited them; and they did, but with angry hearts. 

Louis returned to Holland in a more depressed state of mind than ever;while Hortense and her two children, in obedience to Napoleon's expresscommand, remained in Paris for some time. They were to attend thefestivities that were soon to take place at the imperial court in honorof the marriage of the emperor with the Archduchess Marie Louise ofAustria. The daughter of the divorced empress, with the emperor'ssisters, had been selected to carry the train of the new empress on themarriage-day. Napoleon wished to prove to France and to all Europe thatthere was no other law in his family than his will, and that thedaughter of Josephine had never ceased to be his obedient daughter also. Napoleon wished, moreover, to retain near his young wife, in order thatshe might have at her side a gentle and tender mentor, the queen who hadinherited Josephine's grace and loveliness, and who, in her noblewomanhood, would set a good example to the ladies of his court. Hortensemutely obeyed the emperor's command; on the 1st of April, 1810, the dayof the union of Marie Louise with the emperor, she, together with hissisters, bore the train of the new empress. She alone did this withoutmaking any resistance, while it was only after the most violentopposition to Napoleon's command that his sisters, Queen Caroline ofNaples, the Duchess Pauline of Guastalla, and the Grand-duchess Elise ofTuscany, consented to undergo the humiliation of walking behind theirnew sovereign as humble subjects. And the emperor's sisters were notthe only persons who regarded the imperial pair with displeasure on theday of the marriage celebration. Only a small number of the highdignitaries of the Church had responded to the invitation of thegrand-master of ceremonies, and attended the marriage celebration in thechapel in the Tuileries. 

The emperor, who did not wish to punish his sisters for theiropposition, could at least punish the absence of the cardinals, and hedid this on the following day. He exiled those cardinals who had notappeared in the chapel, forbade them to appear in their red robesthenceforth, and condemned them to the black penitent's dress. 

The people of Paris also received the new empress with a languidenthusiasm. They regarded the new "Austrian" with gloomy forebodings;and when, on the occasion of the ball given by Prince Schwartzenberg inhonor of the imperial marriage, a short time afterward, the fearful fireoccurred that cost so many human lives and destroyed so much familyhappiness, the people remembered with terror that other misfortune thathad occurred on the day of the entry of Marie Antoinette into Paris, andcalled this fire an earnest of the misfortunes which the "Austrian"would bring upon France and the emperor. 

While Hortense was compelled to attend the festivities given in honor ofthe new empress in Paris, a dark storm-cloud was gathering over herhusband's head, that was soon to threaten his life and his crown. 

When Louis, at the emperor's command, accepted the crown of Holland, hehad solemnly sworn to be a faithful ruler to his new people, and todevote his whole being to their welfare. He was too honest a man not tokeep this oath sacredly. His sole endeavor was to make sucharrangements, and provide such laws, as the welfare and prosperity ofHolland seemed to require, without in the least considering whetherthese laws were conducive to the interests of France or not. He wouldnot regard Holland as a province dependent upon France, of which he wasthe governor, but as an independent land that had chosen him to be itsfree and independent king. But Napoleon did not view the matter in thesame light; in his eyes it was sacrilege for the kingdom of Holland torefuse to conform itself in every respect to the interests of itspowerful neighbor, France. 

When Napoleon invested his brother with the crown of Holland, he hadcharged him "to be a good king to his people, but at the same time toremain a good Frenchman, and protect the interests of France. " Louishad, however, endeavored to become a good Hollander; and when theinterests of France and Holland came into conflict, the king took theside of his new country, and acted as a Hollander. He was of the opinionthat the welfare of Holland depended on its commerce and industry only, and that it could only be great through its commercial importance; hetherefore reduced the army and navy, making merchantmen of themen-of-war, and peaceful sailors of their warlike seamen. 

Napoleon, however, regarded this conversion with dismay, and angrilyreproached the King of Holland for "disarming whole squadrons, discharging seamen, and disorganizing the army, until Holland waswithout power, both on land and water, as though warehouses and clerkswere the material elements of power. " Napoleon reproached the king stillmore bitterly, however, for having re-established commercial relationswith England, for having raised the blockade for Holland which Francehad established against England, and for having permitted the Americanships, that had been banished from the ports of France, to anchorquietly in those of Holland. 

The emperor demanded of the King of Holland that he should conformhimself to his will and to the interests of France unconditionally; thathe should immediately break off all commercial relations between Hollandand England; that he should re-establish a fleet, of fortyships-of-the-line, seven frigates, and seven brigs, and an army oftwenty-five thousand men, and that he should abolish all the privilegesof the nobility that were contrary to the constitution. 

King Louis had the courage to resist these demands, in the name ofHolland, and to refuse to obey instructions, the execution of which mustnecessarily have affected the material interests of Holland mostinjuriously. 

Napoleon responded to this refusal with a declaration of war. Theambassador of Holland received his passport, and a French army corps wassent to Holland, to punish the king's insolence. 

But the misfortune that threatened Holland had called the king's wholeenergy into activity, and Napoleon's anger and threats were powerless tobreak his resolution. As the commander of the French troops, the Duke ofReggio, approached Amsterdam, to lay siege to that city and therebycompel the king to yield, Louis determined rather to descend from histhrone than to submit to the unjust demands of France. He, therefore, issued a proclamation to his people, in which he told them that he, convinced that he could do nothing more to promote their welfare, and, on the contrary, believing that he was an obstacle in the way of therestoration of friendly relations between his brother and Holland, haddetermined to abdicate in favor of his two sons, Napoleon Louis andCharles Louis Napoleon. Until they should attain their majority thequeen, in conformity with the constitution, was to be regent. He thentook leave of his subjects, in a short and touching address. He nowrepaired, in disguise, and under the name of Count de St. Leu, throughthe states of his brother Jerome, King of Westphalia, and through Saxonyto Töplitz. 

Here he learned that Napoleon, far from respecting and fulfilling theconditions of his abdication, had united the kingdom of Holland with theempire. The king published a protest against this action of the emperor, in which, in the name of his son and heir, Napoleon Louis, he denouncedthis act of the emperor as a totally unjustifiable act of violence, anddemanded that the kingdom of Holland should be re-established, in allits integrity, declaring the annexation of Holland to France to be nulland void, in the name of himself and his sons. 

Napoleon responded to this protest by causing the king to be informed bythe French ambassador in Vienna that unless he returned to France by the1st of December, 1810, he should be regarded and treated as a rebel, whodared to resist the head of his family and violate the constitution ofthe empire. 

Louis neither answered nor conformed to this threat. He repaired toGrätz, in Styria, and lived there as a private gentleman, beloved andadmired, not only by those who came in contact with him there, butenjoying the esteem of all Europe, which he had won by the noble andtruly magnanimous manner in which he had sacrificed his own grandeur tothe welfare of his people. Even his and Napoleon's enemies could notwithhold from the King of Holland the tribute of their respect, and evenLouis XVIII. Said of him: "By his abdication, Louis Bonaparte has becomea true king; in renouncing his crown, he has shown himself worthy towear it. He is the first monarch who has made so great a sacrifice butof pure love for his people; others have also relinquished theirthrones, but they did it when weary of power. But in this action of theKing of Holland there is something truly sublime--something that was notduly appreciated at first, but which will be admired by posterity, if Imistake not, greatly[19]. "

[Footnote 19: Mémoires d'une Femme de Qualité, vol. V. , p. 47. ]

In Grätz, Louis Bonaparte, Count de St. Leu, lived a few peaceful, tranquil years, perhaps the first years of happiness he had enjoyed inhis short and hitherto stormy life. Occupied with work and study, heeasily forgot his former grandeur and importance. As it had once beenhis ambition to become a good king, it was now his ambition to become agood writer. He published his romance Marie, and, encouraged by thesuccess which it met with in his circle of friends, he also gave hispoems to the public--poems whose tender and passionate language provedthat this so often misunderstood, so often repulsed, and, therefore, sotimid and distrustful heart, could warm with a tenderness of love thatMarie Pascal, the beautiful artist of the harp, could hardly have hadthe cruelty to withstand. 

But a day came when Louis Bonaparte closed his ear to all these sweetvoices of happiness, of peace, and of love, to listen only to the voiceof duty, that appealed to him to return to France, to his brother'sside. While the sun of fortune shone over Napoleon, the king, who hadvoluntarily descended from a throne, remained in obscurity; but when thedays of misfortune came upon the emperor, there could be but one placefor his brave and faithful brother, and that was at Napoleon's side. 

Madame de St. Elme, who was at Grätz at this time, and who witnessed thefarewell scene between Louis Bonaparte and the inhabitants of Grätz, says: "On the day when Austria so unexpectedly sundered its alliancewith France, King Louis felt the necessity of abandoning an asylum, forwhich he would henceforth have been indebted to the enemies of France, and hastened to claim of the great unjust man who had repulsed him, theonly place commensurate with the dignity of his character, the placeat his side. 

"This was a subject of profound sorrow and regret for the inhabitants ofGrätz, and of all Styria, for there was not a pious or usefulinstitution, or a poor family in Styria, that had not been the object ofhis beneficence, and yet it was well known that the king who haddescended from his throne so hastily, and with so little preparation, had but small means, and denied himself many of the enjoyments of life, in order that he might lend a helping hand to others. He was entreated, conjured with tears, to remain, but he held firm to his resolution. Andwhen the horses, that they had at first determined to withhold from him, were at last, at his earnest and repeated solicitation, provided, thepeople unharnessed these horses from his carriage, in order that theymight take their places, and accompany him to the gates of the city withthis demonstration of their love. This departure had the appearance of atriumphal procession; and this banished king, without a country, wasgreeted with as lively plaudits on leaving his place of exile as when hemounted his throne[20]. "

[Footnote 20: Mémoires d'une contemporaine, vol. Iv. , p. 377. ]

CHAPTER X. 

JUNOT, THE DUKE D'ABRANTES. 

While the faithful were rallying around Napoleon to render assistance tothe hero in his hour of peril--while even his brother Louis, forgettingthe mortifications and injuries he had sustained at the emperor's hands, hastened to his side, there was one of the most devoted kept away fromhim by fate--one upon whom the emperor could otherwise have depended inlife and death. 

This one was his friend and comrade-in-arms, Junot, who, descended froman humble family, had by his merit and heroism elevated himself to therank of a Duke d'Abrantes. He alone failed to respond when the ominousroll of the war-drum recalled all Napoleon's generals to Paris. But itwas not his will, but fate, that kept him away. 

Junot--the hero of so many battles, the chevalier without fear andwithout reproach, the former governor of Madrid, the present governor ofIstria and Illyria--Junot was suffering from a visitation of the mostfearful of all diseases--his brain was affected! The scars that coveredhis head and forehead, and testified so eloquently to his gallantry, announced at the same time the source of his disease. His head, furrowedby sabre-strokes, was outwardly healed, but the wounds had affectedhis brain. 

The hero of so many battles was transported into a madman. And yet, this madman was still the all-powerful, despotic ruler of Istria andIllyria. Napoleon, in appointing him governor of these provinces, hadinvested him with truly royal authority. Knowing the noble disposition, fidelity, and devotion of his brother-in-arms, he had conferred upon himsovereign power to rule in his stead. There was, therefore, no one whocould take the sceptre from his hand, and depose him from his highposition. Napoleon had placed this sceptre in his hand, and he alonecould demand it of him. Even the Viceroy of Italy--to whom the Chambersof Istria appealed for help in their anxiety--even Eugene, could affordthem no relief. He could only say to them: "Send a courier to theemperor, and await his reply. "

But at that time it was not so easy a matter to send couriers a distanceof a thousand miles; then there were no railroads, no telegraphs. TheIllyrians immediately sent a courier to the emperor, with an entreatyfor their relief, but the Russian proverb, "Heaven is high, and theemperor distant, " applied to them also! Weeks must elapse before thecourier could return with the emperor's reply; until then, there was norelief; and until then, there was no authority to obey but the Duked'Abrantes, the poor madman!

No other authority, no institution, had the right to place itself in hisstead, or to assume his prerogatives for an instant even, withoutviolating the seal of sovereignty that Napoleon had impressed on thebrow of his governor!

Napoleon, whose crown was already trembling on his head, who wasalready so near his own fall, still possessed such gigantic power thatits reflection sufficed to protect, at a distance of a thousand milesfrom the boundaries of France, the inviolability of a man who had losthis reason, and no longer had the power of reflection and volition. 

How handsome, how amiable, how chivalrous, had Junot been in his earlierdays! How well he had known how to charm beautiful women in thedrawing-rooms, soldiers on the battle-field, and knights at the tourney!In all knightly accomplishments he was the master--always and everywherethe undisputed victor and hero. These accomplishments had won the heartof Mademoiselle de Premont. The daughter of the proud baroness of theFaubourg St. Germain had joyfully determined, in spite of her mother'sdismay, to become the wife of the soldier of the republic, of Napoleon'scomrade-in-arms. Although Junot had no possession but his pay, and nonobility but his sword and his renown, this nevertheless sufficed to winhim the favor of the daughter of this aristocratic mother--of thedaughter who was yet so proud of being the last descendant of theComneni. Napoleon, who loved to see matrimonial alliances consummatedbetween his generals and his nobility and the old legitimist nobility ofFrance, rewarded the daughter of the Faubourg St. Germain richly for thesacrifice she had made for his comrade-in-arms, in giving up herillustrious name, and her coat-of-arms, to become the wife of a generalwithout ancestors and without fortune. He made his friend a duke, andthe Duchess d'Abrantes had no longer cause to be ashamed of her title;the descendant of the Comneni could content herself with the homage doneher as the wife of the governor of Lisbon, contented with the laurelsthat adorned her husband's brow--laurels to which he added a new branch, but also new wounds, on every battle-field. 

The consequences of these wounds had veiled the hero's laurels withmourning-crape, and destroyed the domestic happiness of the poor duchessforever. She had first discovered her husband's sad condition, but shehad known how to keep it a secret from the rest of the world. She had, however, refused to accompany the duke to Illyria, and had remained inParis, still hoping that the change of climate and associations mightrestore him to health. 

But her hopes were not to be realized. The attacks of madness, that hadhitherto occurred at long intervals only, now became more frequent, andwere soon no longer a secret. All Illyria knew that its governor was amadman, and yet no one dared to oppose his will, or to refuse to obeyhis commands; all still bowed to his will, in humility and silentsubmissiveness, hopefully awaiting the return of the courier who hadbeen dispatched to Napoleon at Paris. 

"But heaven is high, and the emperor distant!" And much evil couldhappen, and did happen, before the courier returned to Trieste, whereJunot resided. The poor duke's condition grew worse daily; his attacksof madness became more frequent and more dangerous, and broke out on theslightest provocation. 

On one occasion a nightingale, singing in the bushes beneath his window, had disturbed his rest; on the following morning he caused the generalalarm to be sounded, and two battalions of Croats to be drawn up in thepark, to begin a campaign against the poor nightingale, who had dared todisturb his repose. 

On another occasion, Junot fancied he had discovered a grand conspiracyof all the sheep of Illyria; against this conspiracy he brought thevigilance of the police, all the means of the administration, and thewhole severity of the law, into requisition for its suppression. 

At another time, he suddenly became desperately enamoured of a beautifulGreek girl, who belonged to his household. Upon her refusal to meet hisadvances favorably, a passionate desperation took possession of Junot, and he determined to set fire to his palace, and perish with his love inthe flames. Fortunately, his purpose was discovered, and the fire he hadkindled stifled at once. 

He would suddenly be overcome with a passionate distaste for thegrandeur and splendor that surrounded him, and long to lay aside hisbrilliant position, and fly to the retirement of an humble andobscure life. 

It was his dearest wish to become a peasant, and be able to live in ahut; and, as there was no one who had the right to divest him of hishigh dignities and grant his desire, he formed the resolution to divesthimself of this oppressive grandeur, by the exercise of his own fulnessof power, and to withdraw himself from the annoyances imposed upon himby his high position. 

Under the pretence of visiting the provinces, he left Trieste, to leadfor a few weeks an entirely new life--a life that seemed, for a briefperiod, to soothe his excited mind. He arrived, almost incognito, in thelittle city of Gorizia, and demanded to be conducted to the mostunpretending establishment to which humble and honest laborers were inthe habit of resorting for refreshment and relaxation. He was directedto an establishment called the Ice-house, a place to which poor dailylaborers resorted, to repose after the labors of the day, and refreshthemselves with a glass of beer or wine. 

In this Ice-house the governor of Illyria now took up his abode. Heseldom quitted it, either by day or night; and here, likeHaroun-al-Raschid, he took part in the harmless merriment of happy andcontented poverty. And here this poor man was to find a last delight, alast consolation; here he was to find a last friend. 

This last friend of the Duke d'Abrantes--this Pylades of the poorOrestes--was--a madman!--a poor simpleton, of good family, who was sogood-humored and harmless that he was allowed to go at large, and freescope given to his innocent freaks. He, however, possessed a kind ofdroll, pointed wit, which he sometimes brought to bear most effectively, sparing neither rank nor position. The half-biting, half-droll remarksof this Diogenes of Istria was all that now afforded enjoyment to thebroken-down old hero. It was with intense delight that he heard thesocial grandeur and distinctions that had cost him so dear maderidiculous by this half-witted fellow, whose peculiar forte it was tojeer at the pomp that surrounded the governor, and imitate Frenchelegance in a highly-burlesque manner; and when he did this, his poorprincely friend's delight knew no bounds. 

On one occasion, after the poor fellow had been entertaining him in thismanner, the Duke d'Abrantes threw himself, in his enthusiasm, in hisfriend's arms, and invested him with the insignia of the Legion ofHonor, by hanging around his neck the grand-cross of this order hithertoworn by himself. The emperor had given Junot authority to distributethis order to the deserving throughout the provinces of Illyria andIstria, and the governor himself having invested this mad Diogenes withthe decoration, there was no one who was competent to deprive him of it. For weeks this mad fool was to be seen in the streets of Gorizia, parading himself like a peacock, with the grand-cross of the honorableorder of the Emperor Napoleon, and, at the same time, uttering the mostpointed and biting _bon mots_ at the expense of his own decoration. Theduke often accompanied him in his wanderings through the town, sometimeslaughing loudly at the fool's jests, sometimes listening with earnestattention, as though his utterances were oracles. Thus this strangecouple passed the time, either lounging through the streets together, orseated side by side on a stone by the way, engaged in curiousreflections on the passers-by, or philosophizing over the emptiness ofall glory and grandeur, and over the littleness and malice of the world, realizing the heart-rending, impressive scenes between Lear and hisfool, which Shakespeare's genius has depicted. 

After weeks of anxious suspense, the imperial message, relieving Junotof his authority, and placing the Duke of Otranto in his place, at lastarrived. The poor Duke d'Abrantes left Illyria, and returned to France, where, in the little town of Maitbart, after long and painful struggles, he ended, in sadness and solitude, a life of renown, heroism, andirreproachable integrity. 

CHAPTER XI. 

LOUIS NAPOLEON AS A VENDER OF VIOLETS. 

Gradually, the brilliancy of the sun that had so long dazzled the eyesof all Europe began to wax pale, and the luminous star of Napoleon togrow dim among the dark clouds that were gathering around him. Fortunehad accorded him all that it could bestow upon a mortal. It had laid allthe crowns of Europe at his feet, and made him master of all themonarchies and peoples. Napoleon's antechamber in Erfurt and in Dresdenhad been the rendezvous of the emperors, kings, and princes of Europe, and England alone had never disguised its hostility beneath the mask offriendship, and bent the knee to a hated and feared neighbor. Napoleon, the master of Europe, whom emperors and kings gladly called "brother, "could now proudly remember his past; he had now risen so high that he nolonger had cause to deny his humble origin; this very lowliness had nowbecome a new triumph of his grandeur. 

On one occasion, during the congress at Erfurt, all the emperors, kings, and princes, were assembled around Napoleon's table. He occupied theseat between his enthusiastic friend the Emperor of Russia, and hisfather-in-law, the Emperor of Austria. Opposite them sat the King ofPrussia, his ally, although Napoleon had deprived him of the Rhineprovinces; and the Kings of Bavaria and Würtemberg, to whom Napoleon hadgiven crowns, whose electorate and duchy he had converted into kingdoms, and of whom the first had given his daughter in marriage to Napoleon'sadopted son, Eugene, and the second his daughter to Napoleon's brotherJerome. There were, further, at the table, the King of Saxony and theGrand-duke of Baden, to the latter of whom Napoleon had given the handof Josephine's niece, Stephanie de Beauharnais. All these were princes, "by the grace of God, " of brilliant and haughty dynasties; and in theirmidst sat the son of the advocate of Corsica--he, the Emperor ofFrance--he, upon whom the gaze of all these emperors and kings wasfastened in admiration and respect. Napoleon's extraordinary memory hadjust been the topic of conversation, and the emperor was about toexplain how he had brought it to such a state of perfection. 

"While I was still a sub-lieutenant, " began Napoleon, and instantly hishearers let fall their gaze, and looked down in shame at their plates, while a cloud of displeasure passed over the brow of the emperor ofAustria at this mention of the low origin of his son-in-law. Napoleonobserved this, and for an instant his eagle glance rested on theembarrassed countenances that surrounded him; he then paused for amoment. He began again, speaking with sharp emphasis: "When I still hadthe honor of being a sub-lieutenant, " said he, and the Emperor Alexanderof Russia, the only one of the princes who had remained unembarrassed, laid his hand on the emperor's shoulder, smiled approvingly, andlistened with interest and pleasure to the emperor's narrative of thetime when he "still had the honor of being a sub-lieutenant[21]. "

[Footnote 21: Bossuet, Mémoires, vol. V. ]

Napoleon, as we have said, had already mounted so high that for himthere was no longer a summit to be attained, and now his heart's lastand dearest wish had been granted by destiny. His wife, Marie Louise, had given birth to a son on the 20th of May, 1811, and the advent of thelittle King of Rome had fulfilled the warmest desires of Napoleon and ofFrance. The emperor now had an heir; Napoleon's dynasty was assured. 

Festivities were therefore held in honor of this event, in theTuileries, at the courts, of the Queen of Naples, of the Grand-duchessde Guastalla, of all the dukes of the empire, and of the Queenof Holland. 

Hortense was ill and in pain; a nervous headache, that she had beensuffering from for some time, betrayed the secret of the pain and griefshe had so long concealed from observation. Her cheeks had grown pale, and her eyes had lost their lustre. Her mother wept over her losthappiness in Malmaison, and, when Hortense had wept with and consoledher mother, she was compelled to dry her eyes and hasten to theTuileries, and appear, with a smiling countenance, before her who wasnow her empress and her mother's happy rival. 

But Hortense had accepted her destiny, and was determined to demeanherself as became her own and her mother's dignity. She endeavored to bea true and sincere friend to the young empress, and fulfil the emperor'swishes, and to give brilliant entertainments in honor of the King ofRome, in spite of the pain it must cost her. "The emperor wills it, theemperor requires it;" that was sufficient for all who were about him, and it was sufficient for her. Her mother had gone because it was hiswill, she had remained because it was his will, and she now gave theseentertainments for the same reason. But there was an element of sadnessand gloom even in these festivities of the carnival of 1813; thepresence of so many cripples and invalids recalled the memory of thereverses of the past year. At the balls there was a great scarcity ofyoung men who could dance; incessant wars had made the youth of Franceold before their time, and had converted vigorous men into cripples. 

Her heart filled with dark forebodings, Hortense silently preparedherself against the days of misfortune which she knew must inevitablycome. When these days should come, she wished to be ready to meet themwith a brave heart and a resolute soul, and she also endeavored toimpress on the minds of her two beloved sons the inconstancy of fortune, in order that they might look misfortune boldly in the face. She had nocompassion with the tender youth of these boys, who were now eight andsix years old; no compassion, because she loved them too well not tostrive to prepare them for adversity. 

One day the Duchess of Bassano gave a ball in honor of the queen, andHortense, although low-spirited and indisposed, summoned her resolutionto her aid, and arrayed herself for the occasion. Her blond hair, thatreached to her feet when unbound, was dressed in the ancient Greekstyle, and adorned with a wreath of flowers, not natural flowers, however, but consisting of Hortensias in diamonds. Her dress was ofpink-crape embroidered with Hortensias in silver. The hem of her dressand its train was encircled with a garland of flowers composed of rosesand violets. A bouquet of Hortensias in diamonds glittered on her bosom, and her necklace and bracelets consisted of little diamond Hortensias. In this rich and tasteful attire, a present sent her by the EmpressJosephine the day before, Hortense entered the parlor where the ladiesand gentlemen of her court awaited her, brilliantly arrayed forthe occasion. 

The parlor, filled with these ladies glittering with diamonds, and withthese cavaliers in their rich, gold-embroidered uniforms, presented abrilliant spectacle. The queen's two sons, who came running into theroom at this moment to bid their "bonne petite maman" adieu, stood stillfor an instant, dazzled by this magnificence, and then timidlyapproached the mother who seemed to them a queen from the fairy-realmfloating in rosy clouds. The queen divined the thoughts of her boys, whose countenances were for her an open book in which she readevery emotion. 

She extended a hand to each of her children, and led them to a sofa, onwhich she seated herself, taking the youngest, Louis Napoleon, who wasscarcely six years old, in her lap, while his elder brother, NapoleonLouis, stood at her side, his curly head resting on Hortense's shoulder, gazing tenderly into the pale, expressive face of his beautiful mother. 

"I am very prettily dressed to-day, am I not, Napoleon?" said Hortense, laying her little hand, that sparkled with diamonds, on the head of hereldest son. "Would you like me less if I were poor, and wore nodiamonds, but merely a plain black dress? Would you love me less then?"

"No, _maman_!" exclaimed the boy, almost angrily, and little LouisNapoleon, who sat in his mother's lap, repeated in his shrill littlevoice: "No, _maman_!"

The queen smiled. "Diamonds and dress do not constitute happiness, andwe three would love each other just as much if we had no jewelry, andwere poor. But tell me, Napoleon, if you had nothing, and were entirelyalone in the world, what would you do for yourself?"

"I would become a soldier, " cried Napoleon, with sparkling eyes, "and Iwould fight so bravely that I should soon be made an officer. "

"And you, Louis, what would you do to earn your daily bread?"

The little fellow had listened earnestly to his brother's words, andseemed to be thinking over them still. Perhaps he felt that the knapsackand musket were too heavy for his little shoulders, and that he was, asyet, too weak to become a soldier. 

"I, " said he, after a pause, "I would sell bouquets of violets, like thelittle boy who stands at the gates of the Tuileries, and from whom webuy our flowers every day. "

The ladies and cavaliers, who had listened to this curious conversationin silence, now laughed loudly at this naive reply of the little prince. 

"Do not laugh, ladies, " said the queen, earnestly, as she now arose; "itwas no jest, but a lesson that I gave my children, who were so dazzledby jewelry. It is the misfortune of princes that they believe thateverything is subject to them, that they are made of another stuff thanother men, and have no duties to perform. They know nothing of humansuffering and want, and do not believe that they can ever be affected byanything of the kind. And this is why they are so astounded, and remainso helpless, when the hand of misfortune does strike them. I wish topreserve my sons from this[22]. "

[Footnote 22: The queen's own words. ]

She then stooped and kissed her boys, who, while she and her brilliantsuite were driving to the Tuileries, busied their little heads, considering whether it was easier to earn one's bread as a soldier, orby selling violets at the gates of the Tuileries, like the littlebeggar-boy. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE DAYS OF MISFORTUNE. 

The round of festivities with which the people of France endeavored tobanish the shadow of impending misfortune, was soon to be abruptlyterminated. The thunder of the cannon on the battle-fields of Hanau andLeipsic silenced the dancing-music in the Tuileries; and in thedrawing-rooms of Queen Hortense, hitherto devoted to music andliterature, the ladies were now busily engaged in picking lint for thewounded who were daily arriving at the hospitals of Paris from the army. The declaration of war of Austria and Russia had aroused France from itshaughty sense of invincibility. All felt that a crisis was at hand. Allwere preparing for the ominous events that were gathering likestorm-clouds over France. Each of the faithful hastened to assume theposition to which honor and duty called him. And it was in response tosuch an appeal that Louis Bonaparte now returned from Grätz to Paris; hehad heard the ominous tones of the voice that threatened the emperor, and wished to be at his side in the hour of danger. 

It was not as the wife, but in the spirit of a Frenchwoman and a queen, that Hortense received the intelligence of her husband's return. "I amdelighted to hear it, " said she; "my husband is a good Frenchman, and heproves it by returning at the moment when all Europe has declaredagainst France. He is a man of honor, and if our characters could not bemade to harmonize, it was probably because we both had defects that wereirreconcilable. 

"I, " added she, with a gentle smile, "I was too proud, I had beenspoiled, and was probably too deeply impressed with a sense of my ownworth; and this defect is not conducive to pleasant relations with onewho is distrustful and low-spirited. But our interests were always thesame, and his hastening to France, to enroll himself with all hisbrother Frenchmen, for the defence of his country, is worthy of theking's character. It is only by doing thus that we can testify ourgratitude for the benefits the people have conferred upon ourfamily[23]. "

[Footnote 23: Cochelet, Mémoires sur la reine Hortense, vol. I. , p. 167. ]

In the first days of January, 1814, the news that the enemy had crossedthe boundaries of France, and that the Austrians, Russians, andPrussians, were marching on Paris, created a panic throughout the entirecity. For the first time, after so many years of triumph, Francetrembled for its proud army, and believed in the possibility of defeat. 

In the Tuileries, also, gloom and dejection ruled the hour for the firsttime; and while, when the army had heretofore gone forth, the questionhad been, "When shall we receive the first intelligence of victory?"there were now only mute, inquiring glances bent on the emperor'sclouded countenance. 

On the 24th of January, Napoleon left Paris, in order to repair to thearmy. The empress, whom he had made regent, giving her a council, consisting of his brothers and the ministers, as a support--the empresshad taken leave of him in a flood of tears, and Queen Hortense, who hadalone been present on this occasion, had been compelled to remain forsome time with the empress, in order to console and encourage her. 

But Hortense was far from feeling the confidence which she exhibited inthe presence of the empress and of her own court. She had never believedin the duration of these triumphs and of this fortune; she had alwaysawaited the coming evil in silent expectation, and she was therefore nowready to face it bravely, and to defend herself and her children againstits attacks. She therefore was calm and self-possessed, while the entireimperial family was terror-stricken, while all Paris was in a panic, while the fearful intelligence, "The Cossacks are coming, the Cossacksare marching on Paris!" was overrunning the city. "The Grand-dukeConstantine has promised his troops that they shall warm themselves atthe burning ruins of Paris, and the Emperor Alexander has sworn that hewill sleep in the Tuileries. "

Nothing was now dreamed of but plundering, murder, and rapine; peopletrembled not only for their lives, but also for their property, andhastened to bury their treasures, their jewelry, their gold and silver, to secure it from the rapacious hands of the terrible Cossacks. Treasures were buried in cellars, or hid away in the walls of houses. The Duchess de Bassano caused all her valuable effects to be put in ahidden recess, and the entrance to the same to be walled up and coveredwith paper. There were among these valuable effects several largeclocks, in golden cases, that were richly studded with precious stones, but it had unfortunately been forgotten to stop them, so that for thenext week they continued to strike the hours regularly, and therebybetrayed to the neighbors the secret the duchess had so anxiouslyendeavored to conceal. 

But the cry, "The Cossacks are coming!" was not the only alarm-cry ofthe Parisians. Another, and a long-silent cry, was now heard in Paris--astrange cry, that had no music for the ear of the imperialist, but onethat, to the royalist, had a sweet and familiar sound. This cry was, "The Count de Lille!" or, as the royalists said, "King Louis XVIII. " Theroyalists no longer whispered this name, but proclaimed it loudly andwith enthusiasm, and even those of them who had attached themselves tothe imperial court, and played a part at the same, now dared to removetheir masks a little, and show their true countenance. 

Madame Ducayla, one of the most zealous royalists, although attached tothe court society of the Tuileries, had gone to Hartwell, to convey tohim messages of love and respect in the name of all the royalists ofParis, and to tell him that they had now begun to smooth the way for hisreturn to France and the throne of his ancestors. She had returned withauthority to organize the conspiracy of the royalists, and to give themthe king's sanction. Talleyrand, the minister of Napoleon, theglittering weathercock in politics, had already experienced a change indisposition, in consequence of the shifting political wind, and whenCountess Ducayla, provided with secret instructions for Talleyrand fromLouis XVIII. , entered his cabinet and said in a loud voice, "I come fromHartwell, I have seen the king, and he has instructed me--" heinterrupted her in loud and angry tones, exclaiming: "Are you mad, madame? You dare to confess such a crime to me?" He had, however, thenadded in a low voice: "You have seen him, then? Well, I am his mostdevoted servant[24]. "

[Footnote 24: Mémoires d'une femme de qualité, vol. I. , p. 133. ]

The royalists held meetings and formed conspiracies with but littleattempt at concealment, and the minister of police, Fouché, whose eyesand ears were always on the alert, and who knew of everything thatoccurred in Paris, also knew of these conspiracies of the royalists; hedid not prevent them, however, but advised caution, endeavoring toprove to them thereby the deep reverence which he himself experiencedfor the unfortunate royal family. 

In the midst of all this confusion and anxiety, Queen Hortense alonepreserved her composure and courage, and far from endeavoring, likeothers, to conceal and secure her treasures, jewelry, and othervaluables, she determined to make no change or reduction whatever in hermanner of living; she wished to show the Parisians that the confidenceof the imperial family in the emperor and his invincibility was not tobe shaken. She therefore continued to conduct her household in trulyroyal style, although she had received from the exhausted state treasuryno payment of the appanage set apart for herself and children for aperiod of three months. But she thought little of this; her generousheart was occupied with entirely different interests than those of herown pecuniary affairs. 

She wished to inspire Marie Louise, whom the emperor had constitutedempress-regent on his departure for the army, with the courage which sheherself possessed. She conjured her to show herself worthy of theconfidence the emperor had reposed in her at this critical time, and toadopt firm and energetic measures. When, on the 28th of March, theterror-inspiring news was circulated that the hostile armies were onlyfive leagues from Paris, and while the people were flying from the cityin troops, Hortense hastened to the Tuileries to conjure the empress tobe firm, and not to leave Paris. She entreated Marie Louise, in thename of the emperor, her husband, and the King of Rome, her son, not toheed the voice of the state council, who, after a long sitting, hadunanimously declared that Paris could not be held, and that the empress, with her son and her council, should therefore leave the capital. 

But Marie Louise had remained deaf to all these pressing and energeticrepresentations, and the queen had not been able to inspire her youngand weak sister-in-law with her own resolution. 

"My sister, " Hortense had said to her, "you will at least understandthat by leaving Paris now you paralyze its defence, and thereby endangeryour crown, but I see that you are resigned to this sacrifice. "

"It is true, " Marie Louise had sadly replied. "I well know that I shouldact differently, but it is too late. The state council has decided, andI can do nothing!"

In sadness and dejection Hortense had then returned to her dwelling, where Lavalette, Madame Ney, and the ladies of her court, awaited her. 

"All is lost, " said she, sadly. "Yes, all is lost. The empress hasdetermined to leave Paris. She lightly abandons France and the emperor. She is about to depart. "

"If she does that, " exclaimed General Lavalette, in despair, "then allis really lost, and yet her firmness and courage might now save theemperor, who is advancing toward Paris by forced marches. After all thisweighing and deliberating, they have elected to take the worst coursethey could choose! But, as this has finally been determined on, whatcourse will your majesty now pursue?"

"I remain in Paris, " said the queen, resolutely; "as I am permitted tobe mistress of my own actions, I am resolved to remain here and sharethe fortunes of the Parisians, be they good or evil! This is at least abetter and worthier course than to incur the risk of being made aprisoner on the public highway. "

Now that she had come to a decision, the queen exhibited a joyousdetermination, and her mind recovered from its depression. She hastenedto dispatch a courier to Malmaison to the Empress Josephine, nowforgotten and neglected by all, to conjure her to leave for Novara atonce. She then retired to her bedchamber to seek the rest she so muchneeded after so many hours of excitement. 

But at midnight she was aroused from her repose to a sad awakening. Herhusband, with whom she had held no kind of intercourse since his return, had now, in the hour of danger, determined to assert his maritalauthority over his wife and children. He wrote the queen a letter, requiring her to leave Paris with her children, and follow the empress. 

Hortense replied with a decided refusal. A second categoric message fromher husband was the response. He declared that if she should not at onceconform to his will, and follow the empress with her children, he wouldimmediately take his children into his own custody, by virtue of hisauthority as husband and father. 

At this threat, the queen sprang up like an enraged lioness from herlair. With glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes she commanded that herchildren should be at once brought to her, and then, pressing her twoboys to her heart with passionate tenderness, she exclaimed: "Tell theking that I shall leave the city within the hour!"

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE ALLIES IN PARIS. 

The anxiety of motherly love had effected what neither the departure ofthe empress nor the news of the approach of the Cossacks could do. Hortense had taken her departure. She had quitted Paris, with herchildren and suite, which had already begun to grow sensibly smaller, and arrived, after a hurried flight, endangered by bands of maraudingCossacks, in Novara, where the Empress Josephine, with tears of sorrowand of joy alike, pressed her daughter to her heart. Although her ownhappiness and grandeur were gone, and although the misfortunes of theEmperor Napoleon--whom she still dearly loved--oppressed her heart, Josephine now had her daughter and dearest friend at her side, and thatwas a sweet consolation in the midst of all these misfortunes and cares. 

At Novara, Hortense received the intelligence of the fall of the empire, of the capitulation of Paris, of the entrance of the allies, and of theabdication of Napoleon. 

When the courier sent by the Duke of Bassano with this intelligencefurther informed the Empress Josephine that the island of Elba had beenassigned Napoleon as a domicile, and that he was on the point of leavingFrance to go into exile, Josephine fell, amid tears of anguish, into herdaughter's arms, crying: "Hortense, he is unhappy, and I am not withhim! He is banished to Elba! Alas! but for his wife, I would hasten tohis side, to share his exile!"

While the empress was weeping and lamenting, Hortense had silentlywithdrawn to her apartments. She saw and fully appreciated theconsequences that must ensue to the emperor's entire family, from hisfall; she already felt the mortifications and insults to which theBonapartes would now be exposed from all quarters, and she wished towithdraw herself and children from their influence. She formed a quickresolve, and determined to carry it out at once. She caused Mademoisellede Cochelet, one of the few ladies of her court who had remainedfaithful, to be called, in order that she might impart to her herresolution. 

"Louise, " said she, "I intend to emigrate. I am alone and defenceless, and ever threatened by a misfortune that would be more cruel than theloss of crown and grandeur--the misfortune of seeing my children tornfrom me by my husband. My mother can remain in France--her divorce hasmade her free and independent; but I bear a name that will no longer begladly heard in France, now that the Bourbons are returning. I have noother fortune than my diamonds. These I shall sell, and then go, with mychildren, to my mother's estate in Martinique. I lived there when achild, and have retained a pleasant remembrance of the place. It isundoubtedly hard to be compelled to give up country, mother, andfriends; but one must face these great strokes of destiny courageously. I will give my children a good education, and that shall be myconsolation. "

Mademoiselle de Cochelet burst into tears, kissed the queen's extendedhand, and begged so earnestly that she might be permitted to accompanyher, that Hortense at last gave a reluctant consent. It was arrangedbetween them that Louise should hasten to Paris, in order to make thenecessary preparations for the queen's long journey; and she departed onthis mission, under the protection of the courier, on thefollowing morning. 

How changed and terrible was the aspect Paris presented on her arrival!At the gate through which they entered Cossacks stood on guard; thestreets were filled with Russian, Austrian, and Prussian soldiery, atwhose side the proud ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain were to be seenwalking, in joyous triumph, bestowing upon the vanquishers of France asgreat a devotion as they could have lavished upon the beloved Bourbonsthemselves, whose return was expected in a few days. 

A Swedish regiment was quartered in the queen's dwelling; her servantshad fled; her glittering drawing-rooms now sheltered the conquerors ofFrance; and in the Tuileries preparations were already being made forthe reception of the Bourbons. 

No one dared to pronounce the name of Napoleon. Those who were formerlyhis most zealous flatterers were now the most ready to condemn him. Those upon whom he had conferred the greatest benefits were now thefirst to deny him, hoping thereby to wipe out the remembrance of thebenefits they had received. The most zealous Napoleonists now became themost ardent royalists, and placed the largest white cockades in theirhats, in order that they might the sooner attract the attention of thenew rulers. 

But there was still one man who pronounced the name of Napoleon loudly, and with affectionate admiration, and publicly accorded him the tributeof his respect. 

This one was the Emperor Alexander of Russia. He had loved Napoleon sodearly, that even the position of hostility which policy compelled himto assume could not banish from his heart friendship for the hero whohad so long ruled Europe. 

Napoleon's fate was decided; and it was attributable to the zealousefforts of the czar that the allies had consented to the emperor'sdemands, and appointed him sovereign of the island of Elba. Now thatAlexander could do nothing more for Napoleon, he desired to make himselfuseful to his family, at least, and thereby testify the admiration whichhe still felt for the fallen Titan. 

The Empress Marie Louise and the little King of Rome had no need of hisassistance. The empress had not availed herself of the permission of theallies to accompany her husband to Elba, but had placed herself and sonunder the protection of her father, the Emperor of Austria. 

The Emperor Alexander therefore bestowed his whole sympathy uponNapoleon's divorced wife and her children, the Viceroy of Italy and theQueen of Holland. He took so great an interest in the queen, that hedeclared his intention, in case Hortense should not come to Paris, ofgoing to Novara to see her, in order to learn from her own lips in whatmanner he could serve her, and how she desired that her future shouldbe shaped. 

Count Nesselrode, the emperor's minister, was also zealous in hisendeavors to serve the queen. The count had long been the intimatefriend of Louise de Cochelet; and, desirous of giving her a furtherproof of his friendship, he knew of no better way of doing so than byrendering a service to Queen Hortense and her children. Louise informedthe count of the queen's intended departure for Martinique. CountNesselrode smiled sadly over this desperate resolve of a brave mother'sheart, and instructed Louise to beg the queen to impart to him, throughher confidante, all her wishes and demands, in order that he might laythem before the emperor. 

The queen's fate was the subject of great sympathy in all quarters. When, in one of the sessions of the ministers of the allies, in whichthe fate of France, of the Bourbons, and of the Bonapartes, was to bethe subject of deliberation, the question of making some provision forthe emperor's family came up for consideration, the prince of Beneventoexclaimed: "I plead for Queen Hortense alone; for she is the only onefor whom I have any esteem. " Count Nesselrode added: "Who would not beproud to claim her as a countrywoman? She is the pearl of her France!"And Metternich united with the rest in her praise[25]. 

[Footnote 25: Cochelet, vol. I. , p 279. ]

But it was in vain that Louise de Cochelet imparted this intelligence tothe queen; the entreaties and representations of her friends werepowerless to persuade Hortense to leave her retirement and cometo Paris. 

The following letter of the queen, written to Louise, concerning heraffairs, will testify to her beautiful and womanly sentiments. Thisletter is as follows:

"My dear Louise, --You and all my friends write me the same questions:'What do you want? What do you demand?' I reply to all of you: I wantnothing whatever! What should I desire? Is not my fate alreadydetermined? When one has the strength to form a great resolution, andwhen one can firmly and calmly contemplate the idea of making a journeyto India or America, it is unnecessary to demand any thing of any one. Ientreat you to take no steps that I should be compelled to disavow; Iknow that you love me, and this might induce you to do so. I am reallynot to be pitied; it was in the midst of grandeur and splendor that Ihave suffered! I shall now, perhaps, learn the happiness of retirement, and prefer it to all the magnificence that once surrounded me. I do notbelieve I can remain in France; the lively interest now shown in mybehalf might eventually occasion mistrust. This idea is annihilating; Ifeel it, but I shall not willingly occasion sorrow to any one. Mybrother will be happy; my mother can remain in her country, and retainher estates. I, with my children, shall go to a foreign land, and, asthe happiness of those I love is assured, I shall be able to bear themisfortune that strikes only at my material interests, but not at myheart. I am still deeply moved and confounded by the fate that hasovertaken the Emperor Napoleon and his family. Is it true? Has all beenfinally determined? Write me on this subject. I hope that my childrenwill not be taken from me; in that case I should lose all courage. Iwill so educate them that they shall be happy in any station of life. Ishall teach them to bear fortune and misfortune with equal dignity, andto seek true happiness in contentment with themselves. This is worthmore than crowns. Fortunately, they are healthy. Thank Count Nesselrodefor his sympathy. I assure you there are days that are properly calleddays of misfortune, and that are yet not without a charm; such are thosethat enable us to discern the true sentiments people hold toward us. Irejoice over the affection which you show me, and it will always affordme gratification to tell you that I return it. HORTENSE[26]. "

[Footnote 26: Cochelet, vol. I. , pp. 275-277. ]

CHAPTER XIV. 

CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN THE QUEEN AND LOUISE DE COCHELET. 

In the meanwhile, Hortense was still living with her mother in Novara, firmly resolved to remain in her retirement, sorrowing over the fate ofthe imperial house, but quite indifferent as to her own fate. 

But her friends--and even in misfortune Hortense still had friends--andabove all her truest friend, Louise de Cochelet, busied themselves allthe more about her future, endeavoring to rescue out of the generalwreck of the imperial house at least a few fragments for the queen. 

Louise de Cochelet was still sojourning in Paris, and the letters whichshe daily wrote to the queen at Novara, and in which she informed her ofall that was taking place in the city, are so true a picture of thatstrange and confused era, that we cannot refrain from here insertingsome of them. 

In one of her first letters Louise de Cochelet relates a conversationwhich she had had with Count Nesselrode, in relation to thequeen's future. 

"The Bourbons, " she writes, "have now been finally accepted. I askedCount Nesselrode, whom I have just left: 'Do you believe that the queenwill be permitted to remain in France? Will the new rulers consider thisproper?' 'Certainly, ' he replied, 'I am sure of it, for we will make ita condition with them, and without us they would never have come to thethrone at all! It is not the Bourbons, but it is we, it is all Europe, that arranges and regulates these matters. I therefore trust that theywill never violate the agreement. Rest assured that the EmperorAlexander will always support the right. '

"All of these strangers here speak of you, madame, with greatenthusiasm. Metternich, who doubtlessly recollects your great kindnessto his wife and children, inquired after you with lively interest. Prince Leopold is devotedly attached to yourself and the EmpressJosephine, and ardently desires to be able to serve you both. CountNesselrode thinks it would be well for you to write to the EmperorAlexander, as he takes so warm an interest in your affairs. 

"The old nobility is already much discontented; it considers itselfdebased, because it sees itself mixed with so many new elements. "

"Come to Malmaison with the empress, " she writes a few days later, "theEmperor Alexander will then go there at once to meet you; he is anxiousto make your acquaintance, and you already owe him some thanks, as hedevotes himself to your interests as though they were his own. The Dukeof Vicenza, who demeans himself so worthily with regard to the EmperorNapoleon, requests me to inform you that the future of your childrendepends on your coming to Malmaison. 

"The Emperor Napoleon has signed an agreement, that secures the futureof all the members of his family; you can remain in France, and retainyour titles. You are to have for yourself and children an income of fourhundred thousand francs. 

"It is said here that the Faubourg St. Germain is furious over thebrilliant positions provided for the imperial family and the empress. This is their gratitude for all her goodness to them. 

"You wish to make Switzerland your home. Count Nesselrode thinks you maybe right, that it is a good retreat; but you should not give up the oneyou have here, and should in any event retain the right to returnto France. 

"Fancy, madame, Count Nesselrode insists on my seeing his emperor! Ihave not yet consented, because I do not like to do any thing withoutyour assent; but I confess I long to make his acquaintance. I am madequite happy by hearing you so well spoken of here. 

"Count Nesselrode said to me yesterday: 'Tell the queen that I shall behappy to fulfil all her wishes, and that I can do so, that I have thepower. ' For great security he wishes to have a future assured you thatshall be independent of the treaty. I do not know what to say to him. Write to me, and demand something, I conjure you!"

The queen's only response to this appeal was a letter addressed to theEmperor Napoleon, and sent to Count Nesselrode, with the request that itshould be forwarded to its destination. 

"It is strange, " wrote Louise de Cochelet in relation to thismatter--"strange that all my efforts to serve you here have had no otherresult than your sending a commission to Count Nesselrode to forward toFontainebleau a letter addressed to the Emperor Napoleon. He at firstthought I was bringing him the letter he had solicited for his emperor;but he well knows how to appreciate all that is noble and great, and ashe possesses the most admirable tact, he thinks the letter cannot wellreach the emperor through him, and will therefore send it to the Duke ofVicenza, at Fontainebleau, to be delivered by him to the EmperorNapoleon. "

Another letter of Louise de Cochelet is as follows: "I have just seenCount Nesselrode again; he makes many inquiries concerning you; theEmperor of Russia now resides on the Elysée Bourbon. The count tells mea story that is in circulation here, and has reference to the EmpressMarie Louise and the kings her brothers-in-law. They were about to forceher to enter a carriage, in which they were to continue their journeywith her; when she refused to enter, it is said the King of Westphaliabecame so violent that he gave her a little beating. She cried for help, and General Caffarelli[27], who commanded the guards, came to herrescue. On the following day she and her son were made prisoners, andall the crown diamonds in her possession seized by the authorities; butit seems as though capture was precisely what she wished. 

[Footnote 27: According to Napoleon's instructions, his brothers were toprevent the empress and the King of Rome from falling into the hands ofthe enemy. De Baussue narrates this scene in his memoirs, and it isself-evident that it was not so stormy as the gossip of Parisportrayed it. ]

"The Queen of Westphalia has just arrived in Paris; the EmperorAlexander, her cousin, called on her immediately. It is supposed thatshe will return to her father. 

"Your brothers future is not yet determined on, but it will certainly bea desirable and worthy one. There are many intrigues going on inconnection with it, as Count Nesselrode informs me. As for the kingdomof Naples, it is no longer spoken of. By the details of the last warwith us, narrated to me by the count, I see that he despises many of ourministers and marshals, and that these must be very culpable; and yet hetells me that they considered the result uncertain a week before ouroverthrow; as late as the 10th of March they believed that peace hadbeen made with Prussia at least. 

"Do not grieve over the fate of the emperor on the island of Elba. Theemperor selected it himself; the allies would have preferred anyother place. 

"All the mails arriving at Paris have been seized by the allies. Amongthe letters there was one from the Empress Marie Louise to her husband. She writes that her son is well, but that on awakening from a goodnight's rest he had cried and told her he had dreamed of his father;notwithstanding all her coaxing and promises of playthings, he had, however, refused to tell what he had dreamed of his father, and thatthis circumstance had made her uneasy in spite of her will. 

"Prince Leopold resides in the same house with Countess Tascher; he isincessantly busied with yours and your mother's affairs; he at least isnot oblivious of the kindness you have both shown him. I know that it ishis intention to speak to the Emperor of Russia, and then write to you. 

"All your friends say that you must consider the interest of yourchildren, and accept the future offered you. M. De Lavalette and theDuke of Vicenza are also of this opinion. You lose enough without this, and you may well permit the victors to return a small portion of thatwhich they have taken from you, and which is rightfully yours. 

"In short, all your friends demand that you shall repair to Malmaison assoon as the Emperor Napoleon shall have departed from Fontainebleau. Iam assured that the Emperor Alexander intends to hunt you up in Novaraif you should not come to Malmaison. It will therefore be impossible toavoid him. Consider that the fate of your children lies in his hands! Inthe treaty of Fontainebleau you and your children were provided fortogether; this is a great point for you, and proves how highly you arethought of. 

"It is to the Emperor of Russia alone that you owe this; and when theDuke of Vicenza submitted this article of the treaty to the EmperorNapoleon for his signature, it met with his entire approval. Your soleand undivided authority over your children is thereby acknowledged. Youshould, therefore, not reject the good offered you for your children. Ido not think it would require much persuasion to induce others to acceptthat which is tendered you. 

"Madame Tascher, who has proved herself to be your true friend andrelative, has just had her first interview with the Duke of Dalberg, themember of the provisional government. She spoke of you, and I will heregive you his response, word for word: 'She is considered as beingaltogether foreign to the Bonaparte family, because she has separatedherself from her husband. She will be the refuge of her children, whoare left to her. She is so dearly beloved and highly esteemed, that shecan be very happy. She can remain in France, and do whatever shepleases; but she must now return to Paris. ' Countess Tascher came to meimmediately after leaving the duke, in order to acquaint me with whathe had said. 

"Friends and foes alike say this about you: 'Those who are not delightedwith what is being done for the queen are bad people! And as for her, what has she to regret in all this? Only the good she has done! Now, theworld will dare to love her, and to express their love; she has so fewwishes, she is so perfect!'

"In short, it would seem almost that the people are pleased with themisfortune that places you in the right light, and they say, 'She is farmore worthy in herself than when surrounded by a glittering court!'

"Yesterday I saw the new arrivals from Fontainebleau, M. De Lascour andM. De Lavoestine. They came to me to learn where you were to be found, and intend visiting you at once, either at Novara or at Malmaison, asthe case may be. These two gentlemen are true knights. 'No matter whatshe is to become, ' said they; 'we can now show our devotion, withoutincurring the risk of being considered flatterers. '

"The last two weeks at Fontainebleau have been a period of the greatestinterest. All these young men, together with M. De Labédoyère and M. DeMontesquieu, wished to accompany the emperor; but he forbade their doingso, and, in taking leave of them, appealed to them to remain, and tocontinue to serve their country zealously. 

"Lascour and Lavoestine, together with many other officers of the army, are much displeased with the generals who left Fontainebleau withouttaking leave of the emperor. 

"Upon taking leave of the Empress Josephine, the emperor is reported tohave said: 'She was right; my separation from her has brought misfortuneupon my head. '

"It is said that the Duchess of Montebello will leave the Empress MarieLouise. "

But all these entreaties and flatteries, and these appeals to a mother'sheart, were, as yet, powerless to break the queen's pride. She stillconsidered it more worthy and becoming to remain away from the city inwhich the ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain were celebrating the orgiesof their victorious royalism with the soldiers of the allied armies. Instead of yielding to Louise de Cochelet's entreaties, the queen wroteher the following letter:

"My dear Louise, --My resolution gives you pain! You all accuse me ofchildish waywardness. You are unjust! My mother can follow the Duke deVicenza's counsel; she will go to Malmaison, but _I remain here, _ and Ihave good reasons for doing so. I cannot separate my interests fromthose of my children. It is they, it is their nearest relatives, who arebeing sacrificed by all that is taking place, and I am, therefore, determined not to approach those who are working our ruin. I must besaddened by our great misfortune, and I will appear so, and abstain fromapproaching those who would still consider me a supplicant, even thoughI should demand nothing of them. 

"I can readily believe that the Emperor Alexander is kindly disposedtoward me; I have heard much good of him, even from the EmperorNapoleon. Although I was once anxious to make his acquaintance, I atthis moment have no desire to see him. Is he not our vanquisher? Intheir hearts, your friends must all approve of my determination, whatever they may say. I find retirement congenial. When you have seenenough of your friends, you will return to me. I am suffering in mybreast, and shall perhaps go to some watering-place. I do not knowwhether it is due to the air of Novara, but since I have been here Icannot breathe. My friends maintain that it is due to the mental shocksresulting from the great events that have transpired; but they are inerror; death has spared us all, and the loss of a glittering position isnot the greatest loss one can sustain. What personal happiness do Ilose? My brother will, I trust, be well and suitably provided for, andhe will be no longer exposed to danger. He must be very uneasy on ouraccount, and yet I dare not write to him, as my letters would probablynever reach him; if an opportunity should present itself, please let himknow that we are no longer surrounded by dangers. Adieu. I entreat youonce more to undertake nothing in my behalf. I fear your impetuosity andfriendship, and yet I love to be able to count on you. My children arewell. My mother opposes all my plans; she asserts that she has need ofme; but I shall, nevertheless, go to her who must now be more unhappythan all of us. 

HORTENSE. "

She of whom Hortense thought that she must be more unhappy than all ofthem, was the wife of Napoleon, Marie Louise, who had now left Blois, towhich place she had gone as empress-regent, and repaired to Rambouillet, to await the decision of the allies with regard to the future of herselfand son. It was certainly one of the most peculiar features of thisperiod, so rich in extraordinary occurrences, to see the sovereigns ofEurope, the overthrown rulers of France, and those who were about tograsp the sceptre once more, thrown confusedly together in Paris, andwithin a circuit of some fifty miles around that city: a Bourbon in theTuileries, Bonaparte at Fontainebleau, his wife and his son atRambouillet, the divorced empress at Novara, the Emperors of Russia andAustria, and the King of Prussia, at Paris; moreover, a whole train oflittle German potentates and princes, and the Napoleonic kings andprinces, who were all sojourning in Paris or its vicinity. 

The Queen of Holland considered it her duty, in these days of misfortuneand danger, to stand at the side of her whom Napoleon had commanded themto consider the head of the family, and to serve faithfully in life anddeath. Hortense therefore determined to go to the Empress Marie Louiseat Rambouillet, in accordance with the emperor's commands. 

This determination filled the hearts of the queen's friends with sorrow;and Louise had no sooner received the letter in which the queenannounced her impending departure, than she hastened to reply, imploringher to abandon this intention. M. De Marmold, the queen's equerry, departed with all speed to bring this letter to the queen at Louis, where she was to pass the night, and to add his entreaties to thoseof Louise. 

"M. De Marmold, the bearer of this letter, will deliver it to you atLouis, if he arrives there in good time, " wrote Louise de Cochelet. "Ifyou go to Rambouillet, you will destroy your own position, and also thatof your children; this is the conviction of all your friends. I was sohappy, for Prince Leopold had written you, in the name of the EmperorAlexander, and begged you to come to Malmaison. You could not haveavoided seeing him, as he would even have gone to Novara. Instead, however, of returning with the Empress Josephine, you are on the pointof uniting yourself with a family that has never loved you. With themyou will experience nothing but distress, and they will not be thankfulfor the sacrifice you are about to make. You will regret this step whenit is too late. I conjure you, do not go to Rambouillet!

"Your course will touch those to whom you are going but little, and willdisplease the allies, who take so much interest in you. 

"The empress is a thorough Austrian at heart, and the visits of membersof her husband's family are regarded with disfavor. I tell you this atthe request of Prince Leopold and Madame de Caulaincourt. The latter, ifyou do not come here soon, will go to you, in spite of her great age. She conjures you not to go to Rambouillet, as your lady of honor, andthe friend of your mother; she even forbids your doing so. 

"When I informed Prince Leopold of your intention to go to the EmpressMarie Louise at Rambouillet, his eyes filled with tears. 'It isbeautiful to be proud, ' said he, 'but she can no longer retreat; she isalready under obligations to the Emperor of Russia, who effected thetreaty of the 11th of April. I await her reply, to deliver it to theemperor: she owes him a reply. '

"I passed an hour with our good friend Lavalette this morning. Thisexcellent man knew nothing of the measures we have been taking topersuade you to return, and said to me: 'How fortunate it would be forher and her children, if the emperor should desire to see her!' Do come, do come; show your friends this favor; we shall all be in despair if yougo to Rambouillet!

"Prince Leopold will write you a few lines. He could not be more devotedto yourself and the Empress Josephine if you were his mother and hissister. Count Tschernitscheff has been to see me. The Emperor of Austriaarrives here to-morrow, and the new French princes and the king willsoon follow. What a change!

"You must see the Emperor of Russia, because he so much desires it. Iconjure you, on my knees, to do me this favor! The emperor conductshimself so handsomely that every one is constrained to respect him; oneforgets that he is the conqueror, and can only remember him as theprotector. He seems to be the refuge of all those who have lost all, andare in distress. His conduct is admirable; he receives none but businesscalls, and such others as are absolutely necessary. The fair ladies ofthe Faubourg St. Germain cannot boast of his attention to them, and thisdoes him all the more credit, he being, as it is said, very susceptibleto the fair sex. He told Prince Leopold that he intended going toNovara, adding: 'You know that I love and esteem this family; PrinceEugene is the prince of knights; I esteem the Empress Josephine, QueenHortense, and Prince Eugene, all the more from the fact that herdemeanor toward the Emperor Napoleon has been so much more noble thanthat of so many others, who should have shown him more devotion. ' Howcould it be possible not to respect a man of such nobility of character?I trust you will soon have an opportunity of judging of this yourself. For God's sake, return!

LOUISE. "

But these entreaties were all in vain. M. De Marmold arrived at Louis intime to see the queen; he delivered the letters of her friends, and didall that lay in his power to persuade her not to go to Rambouillet. 

But Hortense held firmly to her intention. "You are right, " said she. "All this is true; but I shall, nevertheless, go to the Empress MarieLouise, for it is my duty to do so. If unpleasant consequences shouldresult from this step for me, I shall pay no attention to them, butmerely continue to do my duty. Of all of us, the Empress Marie Louisemust be the most unhappy, and must stand most in need of consolation; itis, therefore, at her side that I can be of most use, and nothing canalter my determination. "

CHAPTER XV. 

QUEEN HORTENSE AND THE EMPEROR ALEXANDER. 

Queen Hortense had gone to Rambouillet, in spite of the entreaties andexhortations of her friends. The Empress Marie Louise had, however, received her with an air of embarrassment. She had told the queen thatshe was expecting her father, the Emperor of Austria, and that shefeared the queen's presence might make him feel ill at ease. Moreover, the young empress, although dejected and grave, was by no means sosorrowful and miserable as Hortense expected. The fate of her husbandhad not wounded the heart of Marie Louise as deeply as that of theEmpress Josephine. 

Hortense felt that she was not needed there; that the presence of theEmperor of Austria would suffice to console the Empress of France forher husband's overthrow. She thought of Josephine, who was so deeplysaddened by Napoleon's fate; and finding that, instead of consoling, sheonly embarrassed the Empress Marie Louise, she hastened to relieve herof her presence. 

And now, at last, Hortense bowed her proud, pure heart beneath the yokeof necessity; now, at last, she listened to the prayers andrepresentations of her mother, who had returned to Malmaison, and of herfriends, and went to Paris. It had been too often urged upon her thatshe owed it to her sons to secure their fortune and future, not toovercome her personal repugnance, and conform herself to this newcommand of duty. 

She had, therefore, returned to Paris for a few days, and taken up herabode in her dwelling, whose present dreariness recalled, with sorrowfuleloquence, the grandeur of the past. 

These drawing-rooms, once the rendezvous of so many kings and princes, were now desolate, and bore on their soiled floors the footprints of thehostile soldiers who had recently been quartered there. At the czar'ssolicitation, they had now been removed; but the queen's householdservants had also left it. Faithless and ungrateful, they had turnedtheir backs on the setting sun, and fled from the storm that had burstover the head of their mistress. 

The Emperor Alexander hastened to the queen's dwelling as soon as herarrival in Paris was announced, the queen advancing to meet him as faras the outermost antechamber. 

"Sire, " said she, with a soft smile, "I have no means of receiving youwith due ceremony; my antechambers are deserted. "

The appearance of this solitary woman, this queen without a crown, without fortune, and without protection and support, who neverthelessstood before him in all the charms of beauty and womanhood, a soft smileon her lips, made a deep impression on the emperor, and his eyes filledwith tears. 

The queen observed this, and hastened to say, "But what of that? I donot think that antechambers filled with gold-embroidered liveries wouldmake those who come to see me happier, and I esteem myself happy inbeing able to do you the honors of my house alone. I have, therefore, only won. "

The emperor took her hand, and, while conducting the queen to her room, conversed with her, with that soft, sad expression peculiar to him, lamenting with bitter self-reproaches almost that he was himself, inpart, to blame for the misfortunes that had overtaken the emperor andhis family. He then conjured her to abandon her intention of leavingFrance, and to preserve herself for her mother and friends. He told herthat, in abandoning her country, her friends, and her rights, she wouldbe guilty of a crime against her own children, against her two sons, whowere entitled to demand a country and a fortune at her hands. 

The queen, overcome at last by these earnest and eloquentrepresentations, declared her readiness to remain in France, if thewelfare of her sons should require it. 

"Until now, " said she, "I had formed all my resolutions with referenceto misfortune. I was entirely resigned, and I never thought of thepossibility of any thing fortunate happening for me; and even yet, I donot know what I can desire and demand. I am, however, determined toaccept nothing for myself and children that would be unworthy of us, andI do not know what that could be. "

With an assuring smile, the emperor extended his hand to the queen. "Leave that to me, " said he. "It is, then, understood, you are to remainin France?"

"Sire, you have convinced me that the future of my sons requires it. Ishall therefore remain. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE NEW UNCLES. 

Malmaison, to which place Hortense had returned after a short stay inParis, and where the Empress Josephine was also sojourning, was a kindof focus for social amusement and relaxation for the sovereignsassembled in Paris. Each of these kings and princes wished to pay hishomage to the Empress Josephine and her daughter, and thereby, in ameasure, show the last honors to the dethroned emperor. 

On one occasion, when the King of Prussia, with his two sons, PrinceFrederick William (the late king) and William, had come to Malmaison, and announced their desire to call on the empress, she sent them aninvitation to a family dinner, at which she also invited the Emperor ofRussia and his two brothers to attend. 

The emperor accepted this invitation, and on entering, with the youngarchdukes, the parlor in which the Duchess de St. Leu was sitting, hetook his two brothers by the hand and conducted them to Hortense. 

"Madame, " said he, "I confide my brothers to your keeping. They are nowmaking their _début_ in society. My mother fears their heads may beturned by the beauties of France; and in bringing them to Malmaison, where so many charming persons are assembled, I am certainly fulfillingmy promise to preserve them from such a fate but poorly. "

"Reassure yourself, sire, " replied the queen, gravely; "I will be theirmentor, and I promise you a motherly surveillance. "

The emperor laughed, and, pointing to Hortense's two sons, who had justbeen brought in, he said: "Ah, madame, it would be much less dangerousfor my brothers if they were of the age of these boys. "

He approached the two boys with extended hands, and while conversingwith them in a kindly and affectionate manner, addressed them with thetitles "monseigneur" and "imperial highness. "

The children regarded him wonderingly, for the Russian emperor was thefirst to address the little Napoleon and his younger brother, LouisNapoleon, with these imposing titles. The queen had never allowed themto be called by any but their own names. She wished to preserve themfrom vain pride, and teach them to depend on their own intrinsic merit. 

Shortly afterward the King of Prussia and his sons were announced, andthe emperor and his brothers left the young princes, and advanced tomeet the king. 

While the emperor and the king were exchanging salutations, Hortense'stwo sons inquired of their governess the names of the gentlemen who hadjust entered. 

"It is the King of Prussia, " whispered the governess; "and the gentlemanwho has just spoken with you is the Emperor of Russia. "

The little Louis Napoleon regarded the tall figures of those princesthoughtfully for a moment, by no means impressed by their imposingtitles. He was so accustomed to see his mother surrounded by kings, andthese kings had always been his uncles. 

"Mademoiselle, " said the little Louis Napoleon, after a short pause, "are these two new gentlemen, the emperor and the king, also our uncles, like all the others and must we call them so?"

"No, Louis, you must simply call them 'sire. '"

"But, " said the boy, after a moment's reflection, "why is it that theyare not our uncles?"

The governess withdrew with the two children to the back of the parlor, and explained to them, in a low voice, that the emperors and kings thenin Paris, far from being their uncles, were their vanquishers. 

"Then, " exclaimed the elder boy, Napoleon Louis, his face flushing withanger, "then they are the enemies of my uncle, the emperor! Why did thisEmperor of Russia embrace us?"

"Because he is a noble and generous enemy, who is endeavoring to serveyou and your mother in your present misfortune. Without him you wouldpossess nothing more in the world, and the fate of your uncle, theemperor, would be much sadder than it already is. "

"Then we ought to love this emperor very dearly?" said the little LouisNapoleon. 

"Certainly; for you owe him many thanks. "

The young prince regarded the emperor, who was conversing with theempress Josephine, long and thoughtfully. 

When the emperor returned to Malmaison on the following day, and whilehe was sitting at his mother's side in the garden-house, little LouisNapoleon, walking on tiptoe, noiselessly approached the emperor frombehind, laid a small glittering object in his hand, and ran away. 

The queen called him back, and demanded with earnest severity to knowwhat he had done. 

The little prince returned reluctantly, hanging his head withembarrassment, and said, blushing deeply: "Ah, _maman, _ it is the ringUncle Eugene gave me. I wished to give it to the emperor, because he isso good to my _maman_!"

Deeply touched, the emperor took the boy in his arms, seated him on hisknees, and kissed him tenderly. 

Then, in order to give the little prince an immediate reward, heattached the ring to his watch-chain, and swore that he would wear thetoken as long as he lived[28]. 

[Footnote 28: Cochelet, vol. I. , p. 355. ]

CHAPTER XVII. 

DEATH OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE. 

Since Napoleon's star had grown pale, and himself compelled to leaveFrance as an exile, life seemed to Josephine also to be enveloped in agloomy mourning-veil; she felt that her sun had set, and night come uponher. But she kept this feeling a profound secret, and never allowed acomplaint or sigh to betray her grief to her tenderly-beloved daughter. Her complaints were for the emperor, her sighs for the fate of herchildren and grandchildren. She seemed to have forgotten herself; herwishes were all for others. With the pleasing address and grace of whichage could not deprive her, she did the honors of her house to theforeign sovereigns in Malmaison, and assumed a forced composure, inwhich her soul had no share. She would have preferred to withdraw withher grief to the retirement of her chambers, but she thought it her dutyto make this sacrifice for the welfare of her daughter andgrandchildren; and she, the loving mother, could do what Hortense'spride would not permit--she could entreat the Emperor Alexander to takepity on her daughter's fate. 

When, therefore, the czar had finally succeeded in establishing herfuture, and had received the letters-patent which secured to the queenthe duchy of St. Leu Alexander hastened to Malmaison, to communicatethis good news to the Empress Josephine. 

She did not reward him with words, but with gushing tears, as sheextended to the emperor both hands. She then begged him, with touchingearnestness, to accept from her a remembrance of this hour. 

The emperor pointed to a cup, on which a portrait of Josephine waspainted, and begged her to give him that. 

"_No_, sire, " said she; "such a cup can be bought anywhere. But I wishto give you something that cannot be had anywhere else in the world, and that will sometimes remind you of me. It is a present that Ireceived from Pope Pius VII. , on the day of my coronation. I present youwith this token in commemoration of the day on which you bring mydaughter the ducal crown, in order that it may remind you of mother anddaughter alike--of the dethroned empress and of the dethroned queen. "

This present, which she now extended to the emperor with a charmingsmile, was an antique cameo, of immense size, and so wondrously-wellexecuted that the empress could well say its equal was nowhere to befound in the world. On this cameo the heads of Alexander the Great andof his father, Philip of Macedonia, were portrayed, side by side; andthe beauty of the workmanship, as well as the size of the stone, madethis cameo a gem of inestimable value. And for this reason the emperorat first refused to accept this truly imperial present, and he yieldedonly when he perceived that his refusal would offend the empress, whoseemed to be more pale and irritable than usual. 

Josephine was, in reality, sadder than usual, for the royal family ofthe Bourbons had on this day caused her heart to bleed anew. Josephinehad read an article in the journals, in which, in the most contemptuousand cruel terms, attention was called to the fact that the eldest son ofthe Queen of Holland had been interred in the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, and that the Minister Blacas had now issued an order to have the coffinremoved from its resting-place, and buried in an ordinary grave-yard. 

Hortense, who had read this article, had hastened to Paris, in orderthat she might herself superintend the removal of the body of herbeloved child from Notre-Dame, and its reinterment in the Church ofSt. Leu. 

While she informed the emperor of this new insult, Josephine's wholefigure trembled, and a deathly pallor overspread her countenance. Josephine lacked the strength to conceal her sufferings to-day, for thefirst time; Hortense was not present, and she might therefore, for once, allow herself the sad consolation of showing, bereft of its smile andits paint, the pale countenance, which death had alreadylightly touched. 

"Your majesty is ill!" exclaimed the emperor, in dismay. 

With a smile, which brought tears to Alexander's eyes, Josephine pointedto her breast, and whispered: "Sire, I have received thedeath-wound here!"

Yes, she was right; she had received a fatal wound, and her heart wasbleeding to death. 

Terrified by Josephine's condition, the emperor hurried to Paris, andsent his own physician to inquire after her condition. When the latterreturned, he informed the emperor that Josephine was dangerously ill, and that he did not believe her recovery possible. 

He was right, and Alexander saw the empress no more! Hortense andEugene, her two children, held a sad watch at their mother's bedsidethroughout the night. The best physicians were called in, but theseonly confirmed what the Russian physician had said--the condition of theempress was hopeless. Her heart was broken! With strong hands, she hadheld it together as long as her children's welfare seemed to require. Now that Hortense's future was also assured--now that she knew that hergrandchildren would, at least, not be compelled to wander about theworld as exiled beggars--now Josephine withdrew her hands from herheart, and suffered it to bleed to death. 

On the 29th of May, 1814, the Empress Josephine died, of an illnesswhich had apparently lasted but two days. Hortense had not heard hermother's death-sigh; when she re-entered the room with Eugene, after hermother had received the sacrament from Abbé Bertrand--when she saw hermother, with outstretched arms, vainly endeavoring to speak tothem--Hortense fainted away at her mother's bedside, and the empressbreathed her last sigh in Eugene's arms. 

The intelligence of the death of the empress affected Paris profoundly. It seemed as though all the city had forgotten for a day that Napoleonwas no longer the ruler of France, and that the Bourbons had reascendedthe throne of their fathers. All Paris mourned; for the hearts of theFrench people had not forgotten this woman, who had so long been theirbenefactress, and of whom each could relate the most touching traits ofgoodness, of generosity, and of gentleness. 

Josephine, now that she was dead, was once more enthroned as empress inthe hearts of the French people and thousands poured into Malmaison, topay their last homage to their deceased empress. Even the Faubourg St. Germain mourned with the Parisians; these haughty and insolentroyalists, who had returned with the Bourbons, may, perhaps, for amoment, have recalled the benefits which the empress had shown them, when, as the mighty Empress of France, she employed the half of herallowance for the relief of the emigrants. They had returned withoutthinking of the thanks they owed their forgotten benefactress; now thatshe was dead, they no longer withheld the tribute of their admiration. 

"Alas!" exclaimed Madame Ducayla, the king's friend; "alas! howinteresting a lady was this Josephine! What tact, what goodness! Howwell she knew how to do everything! And she shows her tact and goodtaste to the last, in dying just at this moment!"

Immediately after the death of the empress, Eugene had conducted thequeen from the death-chamber, almost violently, and had taken her andher children to St. Leu. The body of the empress was interred inMalmaison, and followed to the grave by her two grandchildren only. Grief had made both of her children severely ill, and the little princeswere followed, not by her relatives, but by the Russian General VonSacken, who represented the emperor, and by the equipages of all thosekings and princes who had helped to hurl the Bonapartes from theirthrones and restore the Bourbons. 

The emperor passed his last night in France, before leaving forEngland, at St. Leu; and, on taking leave of Eugene and Hortense, who, at the earnest solicitation of her brother, had left her room for thefirst time since her mother's death, for the purpose of seeing theemperor, he assured them of his unchangeable friendship and attachment. As he knew that, among those whom he strongly suspected, Pozzo diBorgo[29], the ambassador he left behind him in Paris, was anirreconcilable enemy of Napoleon and his family, he had assigned to dutyat the embassy as _attaché_, a gentleman selected for this purpose byLouise de Cochelet--M. De Boutiakin--and it was through him that theemperor directed that the letters and wishes of the queen and of herfaithful young lady friend should be received and answered. 

[Footnote 29: Upon receiving the intelligence of the death of theemperor at St. Helena, Pozzo di Borgo said: "I did not kill him, but Ithrew the last handful of earth on his coffin, in order that he mightnever rise again. "]

A few days later Eugene also left St. Leu and his sister Hortense, toreturn, with the King of Bavaria, to his new home in Germany. It was notuntil his departure that Hortense felt to its full extent the gloomyloneliness and dreary solitude by which she was surrounded. She had notwept over the downfall of all the grandeur and magnificence by which shehad formerly been surrounded; she had not complained when the whirlwindof fate hurled to the ground the crowns of all her relations, but hadbowed her head to the storm with resignation, and smiled at the loss ofher royal titles; but now, as she stood in her parlor at St. Leu and sawnone about her but her two little boys and the few ladies who stillremained faithful--now, Hortense wept. 

"Alas!" she cried, bursting into tears, as she extended her hand toLouise de Cochelet, "alas! my courage is at an end! My mother is dead, my brother has left me, the Emperor Alexander will soon forget hispromised protection, and I alone must contend, with my two children, against all the annoyances and enmities to which the name I bear willsubject me! I fear I shall live to regret that I allowed myself to bepersuaded to abandon my former plan. Will the love I bear my countryrecompense me for the torments which are in store for me?"

The queen's dark forebodings were to be only too fully realized. In thegreat and solemn hour of misfortune, Fate lifts to mortal vision theveil that conceals the future, and, like the Trojan prophetess, we seethe impending evil, powerless to avert it. 

BOOK III. 

_THE RESTORATION. _

CHAPTER I. 

THE RETURN OF THE BOURBONS. 

On the 12th of April, Count d'Artois, whom Louis XVIII. Had sent inadvance, and invested with the dignity of a lieutenant-general ofFrance, made his triumphal entry into Paris. At the gates of the city, he was received by the newly-formed provisional government, Talleyrandat its head; and here it was that Count d'Artois replied to the addressof that gentleman in the following words: "Nothing is changed in France, except that from to-day there will be one Frenchman more in the land. "The people received him with cold curiosity, and the allied troopsformed a double line for his passage to the Tuileries, at which theladies of the Faubourg St. Germain, adorned with white lilies and whitecockades, received him with glowing enthusiasm. Countess Ducayla, afterward the well-known friend of Louis XVIII. , had been one of themost active instruments of the restoration, and she it was who had firstunfolded again in France the banner of the Bourbons--the white flag. Afew days before the entrance of the prince, she had gone, with a numberof her royalist friends, into the streets, in order to excite the peopleto some enthusiasm for the legitimate dynasty. But the people and thearmy had still preserved their old love for the emperor, and theproclamation of Prince Schwartzenberg, read by Bauvineux in the streets, was listened to in silence. True, the royalists cried, _"Vive le roi!"_at the end of this reading, but the people remained indifferentand mute. 

This sombre silence alarmed Countess Ducayla; it seemed to indicate asecret discontent with the new order of things. She felt that thissullen people must be inflamed, and made to speak with energy anddistinctness. To awaken enthusiasm by means of words and proclamationshad been attempted in vain; now the countess determined to attempt toarouse them by another means--to astonish them by the display of astriking symbol--to show them the white flag of the Bourbons!

She gave her companion, Count de Montmorency, her handkerchief, that hemight wave it aloft, fastening it to the end of his cane, in order thatit should be more conspicuous. This handkerchief of Countess Ducayla, fastened to the cane of a Montmorency, was the first royalist bannerthat fluttered over Paris, after a banishment of twenty years. TheParisians looked at this banner with a kind of reverence and shudderingwonder; they did not greet it with applause; they still remained silent, but they nevertheless followed the procession of royalists, who marchedto the boulevards, shouting, _"Vive le roi!"_ They took no part in theirjoyful demonstration, but neither did they attempt to prevent it. 

This demonstration of the royalists, and particularly of the royalistladies, transcended the bounds of propriety, and of their own dignity. In their fanaticism for the legitimate dynasty, they gave the allies areception, which almost assumed the character of a declaration of love, on the part of the fair ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain, for all thesoldiers and officers of the allied army. In a strange confusion ofideas, these warriors, who had certainly entered France as enemies, seemed to these fair ones to be a part of the beloved Bourbons; and theyloved them with almost the same love they lavished upon the royal familyitself. During several days they were, in their hearts, the daughters ofall countries except their own!

Louis XVIII. Was himself much displeased with this enthusiasm of theladies of the Faubourg St. Germain, and openly avowed to CountessDucayla his dissatisfaction with the ridiculous and contemptiblebehavior of these ladies at that time. He was even of the opinion thatit was calculated to injure his cause, as the nation had then not yetpronounced in his favor. 

"They should, " said he, "have received the allies with a dignifiedreserve, without frivolous demonstrations, and without thisinconsiderate devotion. Such a demeanor would have inspired them withrespect for the nation, whereas they now leave Paris with the convictionthat we are still--as we were fifty years ago--the most giddy andfrivolous people of Europe. You particularly, ladies--you havecompromised yourselves in an incomprehensible manner. The allies seemedto you so lovable _en masse, _ that you gave yourselves the appearance ofalso loving them _en détail_; and this has occasioned reports concerningyou which do little honor to French ladies!"

"But, _mon Dieu!_" replied Countess Ducayla to her royal friend, "wewished to show them a well-earned gratitude for the benefit theyconferred in restoring to us your majesty; we wished to offer themfreely what we, tired of resistance, were at last compelled to accord tothe tyrants of the republic and the sabre-heroes of the empire! None ofus can regret what we have done for our good friends the allies!"

Nevertheless, that which the ladies "had done for their good friends theallies" was the occasion of many annoying family scenes, and thehusbands who did not fully participate in the enthusiasm of their wiveswere of the opinion that they had good cause to complain of theirinordinate zeal. 

Count G----, among others, had married a young and beautiful lady a fewdays before the restoration. She, in her youthful innocence, wasentirely indifferent to political matters; but her step-father, herstep-mother, and her husband, Count G----, were royalists of thefirst water. 

On the day of the entrance of the allies into Paris, step-father, step-mother, and husband, in common with all good legitimists, hurriedforward to welcome "their good friends, " and each of them returned totheir dwelling with a stranger--the husband with an Englishman, thestep-mother with a Prussian, and the step-father with an Austrian. Thethree endeavored to outdo each other in the attentions which theyshowered upon the guests they had the good fortune to possess. Thelittle countess alone remained indifferent, in the midst of the joy ofher family. They reproached her with having too little attachment forthe good cause, and exhorted her to do everything in her power toentertain the gallant men who had restored to France her king. 

The husband requested the Englishman to instruct the young countess inriding; the marquise begged the Prussian to escort her daughter to theball, and teach her the German waltz; and, finally, the marquis, who haddiscovered a fine taste for paintings in the Austrian, appealed to thisgentleman to conduct the young wife through the picture-galleries. 

In short, every opportunity was given the young countess to commit afolly, or rather three follies, for she did not like to give thepreference to any one of the three strangers. She was young, andinexperienced in matters of this kind. Her triple intrigue was, therefore, soon discovered, and betrayed to her family; and now husband, step-father, and step-mother, were exasperated. This exceeded even thedemands of their royalism; and they showered reproaches on the head ofthe young wife. 

"It is not my fault!" cried she, sobbing. "I only did what youcommanded. You ordered me to do everything in my power to entertainthese gentlemen, and I could therefore refuse them nothing. "

But there were also cases in which the advances of the enthusiasticladies of the Faubourg St. Germain were repelled. Even the high-born andhaughty Marquise M---- was to experience this mortification. She steppedbefore the sullen, sombre veterans of the Old Guard of the empire, whohad just allowed Count d'Artois to pass before their ranks in deadsilence. She ardently appealed to their love for the dynasty of theirfathers, and, in her enthusiasm for royalism, went so far as to offerherself as a reward to him who should first cry _"Vive le roi!"_ But thefaithful soldiers of the emperor stood unmoved by this generous offer, and the silence remained unbroken by the lowest cry!

The princes who stood at the head of the allied armies were, of course, the objects of the most ardent enthusiasm of the royalist ladies; but itwas, above all, with them that they found the least encouragement. TheEmperor of Austria was too much occupied with the future of his daughterand grandson, and the King of Prussia was too grave and severe, to findany pleasure in the coquetries of women. The young Emperor Alexander ofRussia, therefore, became the chief object of their enthusiasm and love. But their enthusiasm also met with a poor recompense in this quarter. Almost distrustfully, the czar held himself aloof from the ladies of theFaubourg St. Germain; and yet it was they who had decided the fate ofFrance with him, and induced him to give his vote for the Bourbons; foruntil then it had remained undetermined whom the allies should call tothe throne of France. 

In his inmost heart, the Emperor of Russia desired to see theuniversally-beloved Viceroy of Italy, Eugene Beauharnais, elevated tothe vacant throne. The letter with which Eugene replied to theproposition of the allies, tendering him the ducal crown of Genoa, hadwon for Josephine's son the love and esteem of the czar for all time. Alexander had himself written to Eugene, and proffered him, in the nameof the allies, a duchy of Genoa, if he would desert Napoleon, and takesides with the allies. Eugene Beauharnais had replied to him in thefollowing letter:

 * * * * *

"SIRE, --I have received your majesty's propositions. They areundoubtedly very favorable, but they are powerless to change myresolution. I must have known how to express my thoughts but poorly whenI had the honor of seeing you, if your majesty can believe that I couldsully my honor for any, even the highest, reward. Neither the prospectof possessing the crown of the duchy of Genoa, nor that of the kingdomof Italy, can induce me to become a traitor. The example of the King ofNaples cannot mislead me; I will rather be a plain soldier than atraitorous prince. 

"The emperor, you say, has done me injustice; I have forgotten it; Ionly remember his benefits. I owe all to him--my rank, my titles, andmy fortune, and I owe to him that which I prefer to all else--that whichyour indulgence calls my renown. I shall, therefore, serve him as longas I live; my person is his, as is my heart. May my sword break in myhands, if it could ever turn against the emperor, or against France! Itrust that my well-grounded refusal will at least secure to me therespect of your imperial majesty. I am, etc. "

 * * * * *

The Emperor of Austria, on the other hand, ardently desired to securethe throne of France to his grandson, the King of Rome, under theregency of the Empress Marie Louise; but he did not venture to make thisdemand openly and without reservation of his allies, whose action he hadpromised to approve and ratify. The appeals of the Duke of Cadore, whohad been sent to her father by Marie Louise from Blois, urging theemperor to look after her interests, and to demand of the allies thatthey should assure the crown to herself and son, were, therefore, fruitless. 

The emperor assured his daughter's ambassador that he had reason to hopefor the best for her, but that he was powerless to insist on any actionin her behalf. 

"I love my daughter, " said the good emperor, "and I love my son-in-law, and I am ready to shed my heart's blood for them. "

"Majesty, " said the duke, interrupting him, "no such sacrifice isrequired at your hands. "

"I am ready to shed my blood for them, " continued the emperor, "tosacrifice my life for them, and I repeat it, I have promised the alliesto do nothing except in conjunction with them, and to consent to allthey determine. Moreover, my minister, Count Metternich, is at thismoment with them, and I shall ratify everything which he hassigned[30]. "

[Footnote 30: Bourrienne, vol. X. , p. 129. ]

But the emperor still hoped that that which Metternich should sign forhim, would be the declaration that the little King of Rome was to be theKing of France. 

But the zeal of the royalists was destined to annihilate this hope. 

The Emperor of Russia had now taken up his residence in Talleyrand'shouse. He had yielded to the entreaties of the shrewd French diplomat, who well knew how much easier it would be to bend the will of theAgamemnon of the holy alliance[31] to his wishes, when he should havehim in hand, as it were, day and night. In offering the emperor hishospitality, it was Talleyrand's intention to make him his prisoner, body and soul, and to use him to his own advantage. 

[Footnote 31: Mémoires d'une Femme de Qualité. ]

It was therefore to Talleyrand that Countess Ducayla hastened to concertmeasures with the Bonapartist of yesterday, who had transformed himselfinto the zealous legitimist of to-day. 

Talleyrand undertook to secure the countess an audience with the Russianemperor, and he succeeded. 

While conducting the beautiful countess to the czar's cabinet, Talleyrand whispered in her ear: "Imitate Madame de Lemallé--endeavorto make a great stroke. The emperor is gallant, and what he denies todiplomacy he may, perhaps, accord to the ladies. "

He left her at the door, and the countess entered the emperor's cabinetalone. She no sooner saw him, than she sank on her knees, and stretchedout her arms. 

With a knightly courtesy, the emperor immediately hastened forward toassist her to rise. 

"What are you doing?" asked he, almost in alarm. "A noble lady never hasoccasion to bend the knee to a cavalier. "

"Sire, " exclaimed the countess, "I kneel before you, because it is mypurpose to implore of your majesty the happiness which you alone canrestore to us; it will be a double pleasure to possess Louis XVIII. Oncemore, when Alexander I. Shall have given him to us!"

"Is it then true that the French people are still devoted to the Bourbonfamily?"

"Yes, sire, they are our only hope; on them we bestow our whole love!"

"Ah, that is excellent, " cried Alexander; "are all French ladies filledwith the same enthusiasm as yourself, madame?"

"Well, if this is the case, it will be France that recalls Louis XVIII. , and it will not be necessary for us to conduct him back. Let thelegislative bodies declare their will, and it shall be done[32]. "

[Footnote 32: Mémoires d'une Femme de Qualité, vol. I. , p. 179. ]

And of all women, Countess Ducayla was the one to bring the legislativebodies to the desired declaration. She hastened to communicate the hopeswith which the emperor had inspired her to all Paris; on the eveningafter her interview with the emperor, she gave a grand _soirée_, towhich she invited the most beautiful ladies of her party, and a numberof senators. 

"I desired by this means, " says she in her memoirs, "to entrap thegentlemen into making a vow. How simple-minded I was! Did I not knowthat the majority of them had already made and broken a dozen vows?"

On the following day the senate assembled, and elected a provisionalgovernment, consisting of Talleyrand, the Duke of Dalberg, the Marquisof Jancourt, Count Bournonville, and the Abbé Montesquieu. The senateand the new provisional government thereupon declared Napoleon deposedfrom the throne, and recalled Louis XVIII. But while the senate thuspublicly and solemnly proclaimed its legitimist sentiments in the nameof the French people, it at the same time testified to its ownunworthiness and selfishness. In the treaty made by the senate with itsrecalled king, it was provided in a separate clause, "that the salarywhich they had hitherto received, should be continued to them for life. "While recalling Louis XVIII. , these senators took care to pay themselvesfor their trouble, and to secure their own future. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE BOURBONS AND THE BONAPARTES. 

The allies hastened to consider the declaration of the senate andprovisional government as the declaration of the people, and recalled tothe throne of his fathers Louis XVIII. , who, as Count de Lille, had solong languished in exile at Hartwell. 

The Emperor of Austria kept his word; he made no resistance to thedecrees of his allies, and allowed his grandson, the King of Rome, to berobbed of his inheritance, and the imperial crown to fall from hisdaughter's brow. The Emperor Francis was, however, as much astonished atthis result as Marie Louise, for, until their entrance into Paris, theallies had flattered the Austrian emperor with the hope that the crownof France would be secured to his daughter and grandson. The emperor'sastonishment at this turn of affairs was made the subject of acaricature, which, on the day of the entrance of Louis XVIIL, wasaffixed to the same walls on which Chateaubriand's enthusiastic_brochure_ concerning the Bourbons was posted. In this caricature, ofwhich thousands of copies were sown broadcast throughout Paris, theEmperor of Austria was to be seen sitting in an elegant open carriage;the Emperor Alexander sat on the coachman's box, the Regent of Englandas postilion on the lead-horse, and the King of Prussia stood up behindas a lackey. Napoleon ran along on foot at the side of the carriage, holding fast to it, and crying out to the Emperor of Austria, "Father-in-law, they have thrown me out"--"And _taken me in_, " was thereply of Francis I. 

The exultation of the ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain was great, nowthat their king was at last restored to them, and they eagerly embracedevery means of showing their gratitude to the Emperor of Russia. ButAlexander remained entirely insusceptible to their homage; he even wentso far as to avoid attending the entertainments given by the new king atthe Tuileries, and society was shocked at seeing the emperor openlydisplaying his sympathy for the family of the Emperor Napoleon, andrepairing to Malmaison, instead of appearing at the Tuileries. 

Count Nesselrode at last conjured his friend Louise de Cochelet toinform the czar of the feeling of dismay that pervaded the Faubourg St. Germain, when he should come to Queen Hortense's maid-of-honor, as hewas in the habit of doing from time to time, for the purpose ofdiscussing the queen's interests with her. 

"Sire, " said she to the czar, "the Faubourg St. Germain regards yourmajesty's zeal in the queen's behalf with great jealousy. It has evencaused Count Nesselrode much concern. 'Our emperor, ' said he to me, recently, 'goes to Malmaison much too often; the high circles ofsociety, and the diplomatic body, are already in dismay about it; it isfeared that he is there subjected to influences to which policyrequires he should not be exposed. '"

"This is characteristic of my Nesselrode, " replied the emperor, laughing, "he is so easily disquieted. What do I care for the FaubourgSt. Germain? It speaks ill enough for these ladies that they have notmade a conquest of me! I prefer the noble qualities of the soul to alloutward appearances; and I find united in the Empress Josephine, in theQueen of Holland, and in Prince Eugene, all that is admirable andlovable. I am better pleased to be here with you in quiet, confidentialintercourse, than with those who really demean themselves as though theywere crazed, and who, instead of enjoying the triumph we have preparedfor them, are only intent on destroying their enemies, and havecommenced with those who formerly accorded them such generousprotection; they really weary one with their extravagances. 

"Frenchwomen are coquettish, " said the emperor in the course of theconversation; "I came here in great fear of them, for I knew how fartheir amiability could extend; but their heart is undoubtedly no longertheir own. I am therefore on my guard against being deceived by it, andI fancy these ladies love to please so well, that they are even angrywith those who respond to the attentions which are so lavishly showeredon them, with conventional politeness only. "

Louise de Cochelet undertook to defend the French ladies against theemperor's attacks. She told him he should not judge of them by themanner in which they had conducted themselves toward him, as it was butnatural that the ladies should be inspired with enthusiasm for a youngemperor who appeared to them in so favorable a light, and that they mustnecessarily, even without being coquettish, ardently desire to benoticed by him. 

"But, " said the emperor, with his soft, sad smile, "have these ladiesonly been waiting for me in order to feel their heart palpitate? I seekmind and entertainment, but I fly from all those who display a desire toexercise a control over my heart; in this I see nothing but self-love, and I hold myself aloof from such contact. "

While the royalists and the ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain werelavishing attentions upon the allies, and assuring the returned king ofthe boundless delight of his people, this people was already beginningto grumble. The allies had now completed their task, they had restoredto France its legitimate king, and they now put the finishing-touch totheir work by providing in the treaty, that France should be narroweddown to the boundaries it had had before the revolution. 

France was compelled to conform to the will of its vanquishers. From theweakness of the legitimists they now snatched that which they had beencompelled to accord to the strength of the empire. 

All of those fortified places, that had been bought with so much Frenchblood, and that were still held by Frenchmen, were to be given up, andthe great, extended France was to shrink back into the France it hadbeen thirty years before! It was this that made the people murmur. TheFrenchmen who had left Napoleon because they had grown weary of endlesswars, were, nevertheless, proud of the conquests they had made undertheir emperor. The surrender of these conquests wounded the nationalpride, and they were angry with their king for being so ready to putthis shame upon France--for holding the crown of France in higherestimation than the honor of France!

It must be conceded, however, that Louis XVIII. Had most bitterly feltthe disgrace that attached to him in this re-establishment of Francewithin its ancient boundaries, and he had endeavored to protest in everyway against this demand of the allies. But his representative had beenmade to understand that if Louis XVIII. Could not content himself withthe France the allies were prepared to give him, he was at liberty torelinquish it to Marie Louise. The king was, therefore, compelled toyield to necessity; but he did so with bitter mortification, and whilehis courtiers were giving free rein to their enthusiasm for the allies, he was heard to whisper, "_Nos chers amis les ennemis_[33]!"

[Footnote 33: "Our dear friends the enemies!"]

Thus embittered against the allies, it was only with great reluctance, and after a long and bitter struggle, that Louis XVIII. Consented to thedemands made by the allies in behalf of the family of Napoleon. But theEmperor Alexander kept his word; he defended the rights of the Queen ofHolland and her children against the ill-will of the Bourbons, thedislike of the royalists, and the disinclination of the allies, alike. The family of the emperor owed it to him and to his firmness alone thatthe article of the treaty of the 11th of April, in which Louis XVIII. Agreed "that the titles and dignities of all the members of the familyof the Emperor Napoleon should be recognized, and that they should notbe deprived of them, " remained something more than a mere phrase. 

It was only after repeated efforts that the emperor at last succeeded inobtaining for Hortense, from Louis XVIII. , an estate and a title, thatsecured her position. King Louis finally yielded to his urgentsolicitations, and conferred upon Hortense the title of Duchess of St. Leu, and made her estate, St. Leu, a duchy. 

But this was done with the greatest reluctance, and only under thepressure of the king's obligations to the allies, who had given him histhrone; and these obligations the Bourbons would have forgotten aswillingly as the whole period of the revolution and of the empire. 

For the Bourbons seemed but to have awakened from a long sleep, and werenot a little surprised to find that the world had progressed in themeanwhile. 

According to their ideas, every thing must have remained standing at thepoint where they had left it twenty years before; and they were at leastdetermined to ignore all that had happened in the interval. King Louistherefore signed his first act as in "the nineteenth" year of his reign, and endeavored in all things to keep up a semblance of the continuationof his reign since the year 1789. Hence, the letters-patent in whichKing Louis appointed Hortense Duchess of St. Leu were drawn up in amanner offensive to the queen, for they contained the following: "Theking appoints Mademoiselle Hortense de Beauharnais Duchess of St. Leu. "

The queen refused to accept this title, under the circumstances, andrejected the letters-patent. It was not until the czar had angrilydemanded it, that M. De Blacas, the king's premier, consented to draw upthe letters-patent in a different style. They read: "The king appointsHortense Eugénie, included in the treaty of the 11th of April, Duchessof St. Leu. " This was, to be sure, merely a negative and disguisedrecognition of the former rank of the queen; but it was, at least nolonger a degradation to accept it. 

The Viceroy of Italy, the noble Eugene--who was universally beloved, andwho had come to Paris, at the express wish of the czar, to secure hisfuture--occasioned the Bourbons quite as much annoyance and perplexity. 

The king could not refuse to recognize the brave hero of the empire andthe son-in-law of the King of Bavaria, who was one of the allies; and, as Eugene desired an audience of the king, it was accorded him at once. 

But how was he to be received? With what title was Napoleon's step-son, the Viceroy of Italy, to be addressed? It would have been altogether tooridiculous to repeat the absurdity contained in Hortense'sletters-patent, and call Eugene "Viscount de Beauharnais;" but to accordhim the royal title would have compromised the dignity of thelegitimate dynasty. A brilliant solution of this difficult questionsuggested itself to King Louis. When the Duke d'Aumont conducted PrinceEugene to the royal presence, the king advanced, with a cordial smile, and saluted him with the words, "M. Marshal of France, I am happy tosee you. "

Eugene, who was on the point of making his salutation, remained silent, and looked over his shoulder to see whom the king was speaking with. Louis XVIII. Smiled, and continued: "You, my dear sir, are a marshal ofFrance. I appoint you to this dignity. "

"Sire, " said Eugene, bowing profoundly, "I am much obliged to yourmajesty for your kind intentions, but the misfortune of the rank towhich destiny has called me will not allow me to accept the high titlewith which you honor me. I thank you very much, but I mustdecline it[34]. "

[Footnote 34: Mémoires d'une Femme de Qualité, vol. I. , p. 267. ]

The king's stratagem had thus come to grief, and Eugene left the royalpresence with flying colors. He was not under the necessity of acceptingbenefits from the King of France, for his step-father, the King ofBavaria, made Eugene a prince of the royal house of Bavaria, and createdfor him the duchy of Leuchtenberg. Hither Eugene retired, and livedthere, surrounded by his wife and children, in peace and tranquillity, until death tore him from the arms of his sorrowing family, in theyear 1824. 

CHAPTER III. 

MADAME DE STAËL. 

The restoration, that had overthrown so many of the great, and that wasdestined to restore to the light so many names that had lain buried inobscurity, now brought back to Paris a person who had been banished byNapoleon, and who had been adding new lustre and renown to her name in aforeign land. This personage was Madame de Staël, the daughter ofNecker, the renowned poetess of "Corinne" and "Delphine. "

It had been a long and bitter struggle between Madame de Staël and themighty Emperor of the French; and Madame de Staël, with her genius andher impassioned eloquence, and adorned with the laurel-wreath of herexile, had perhaps done Napoleon more harm than a whole army of hisenemies. Intense hatred existed on both sides, and yet it had dependedon Napoleon alone to transform this hatred into love. For Madame deStaël had been disposed to lavish the whole impassioned enthusiasm ofher heart upon the young hero of Marengo and Arcola--quite disposed tobecome the Egeria of this Numa Pompilius. In the warm impulse of herstormy imagination, Madame de Staël, in reference to Bonaparte, hadeven, in a slight measure, been regardless of her position as a lady, and had only remembered that she was a poetess, and that, as such, itbecame her well to celebrate the hero, and to bestow on the luminousconstellation that was rising over France the glowing dithyrambic of hergreetings. 

Madame de Staël had, therefore, not waited for Napoleon to seek her, buthad made the first advances, and sought him. 

To the returning victor of Italy she wrote letters filled withimpassioned enthusiasm; but these letters afforded the youthful generalbut little pleasure. In the midst of the din of battle and the grandschemes with which he was continually engaged, Bonaparte found butlittle time to occupy himself with the poetical works of Madame deStaël. He knew of her nothing more than that she was the daughter of theminister Necker, and that was no recommendation in Napoleon's eyes, forhe felt little respect for Necker's genius, and even went so far as tocall him the instigator of the great revolution. It was, therefore, withastonishment that the young general received the enthusiastic letter ofthe poetess; and, while showing it to some of his intimate friends, hesaid, with a shrug of his shoulders, "Do you understand theseextravagances? This woman is foolish!"

But Madame de Staël did not allow herself to be dismayed by Bonaparte'scoldness and silence--she continued to write new and moreglowing letters. 

In one of these letters she went so far in her inconsiderate enthusiasmas to say, that it was a great error in human institutions that thegentle and quiet Josephine had united her faith with his; that she, Madame de Staël, and Bonaparte, were born for each other, and thatNature seemed to have created a soul of fire like hers, in order that itmight worship a hero such as he was. 

Bonaparte crushed the letter in his hands, and exclaimed, as he threw itin the fire: "That a blue-stocking, a manufactress of sentiment, shoulddare to compare herself to Josephine! I shall not answer these letters!"

He did not answer them, but Madame de Staël did not, or rather wouldnot, understand his silence. Little disposed to give up a resolutiononce formed, and to see her plans miscarry, Madame de Staël was now alsodetermined to have her way, and to approach Bonaparte despite hisresistance. 

And she did have her way; she succeeded in overcoming all obstacles, andthe interview, so long wished for by her, and so long avoided by him, atlast took place. Madame de Staël was introduced at the Tuileries, andreceived by Bonaparte and his wife. The personal appearance of thisintellectual woman was, however, but little calculated to overcomeBonaparte's prejudice. The costume of Madame de Staël was on thisoccasion, as it always was, fantastic, and utterly devoid of taste, andNapoleon loved to see women simply but elegantly and tastefully attired. In this interview with Napoleon, Madame de Staël gave free scope to herwit; but instead of dazzling him, as she had hoped to do, she onlysucceeded in depressing him. 

It was while in this frame of mind, and when Madame de Staël, in herardor, had endeavored almost to force him to pay her a compliment, thatNapoleon responded to her at least somewhat indiscreet question: "Who isin your eyes the greatest woman?" with the sarcastic reply, "She whobears the most children to the state. "

Madame de Staël had come with a heart full of enthusiasm; in her addressto Napoleon, she had called him a "god descended to earth;" she had comean enthusiastic poetess; she departed an offended woman. Her woundedvanity never forgave the answer which seemed to make her ridiculous. Sheavenged herself, in her drawing-room, by the biting _bon mots_ which shehurled at Napoleon and his family, and which were of course faithfullyrepeated to the first consul. 

But the weapons which this intellectual woman now wielded against thehero who had scorned her, wounded him more severely than weapons ofsteel or iron. In the use of these weapons, Madame de Staël was hissuperior, and the consciousness of this embittered Bonaparte all themore against the lady, who dared prick the heel of Achilles with theneedle of her wit, and strike at the very point where he was mostsensitive. 

A long and severe conflict now began between these two greatest geniusesof that period, a struggle that was carried on by both with equalbitterness. But Napoleon had outward power on his side, and could punishthe enmity of his witty opponent, as a ruler. 

He banished Madame de Staël from Paris, and soon afterward even fromFrance. She who in Paris had been so ready to sing the praises of her"god descended from heaven, " now went into exile his enemy and aroyalist, to engage, with all her eloquence and genius, in makingproselytes for the exiled Bourbons, and to raise in the minds of men aninvisible but none the less formidable army against her enemy thegreat Napoleon. 

Madame de Staël soon gave still greater weight to the flaming eruptionsof her hatred of Napoleon, by her own increasing renown and greatness;and the poetess of Corinne and Delphine soon became as redoubtable anopponent of Napoleon as England, Russia, or Austria, could be. 

But in the midst of the triumphs she was celebrating in her exile, Madame de Staël soon began to long ardently to return to France, whichshe loved all the more for having been compelled to leave it. Shetherefore used all the influence she possessed in Paris, to obtain fromNapoleon permission to return to her home, but the emperor remainedinexorable, even after having read Delphine. 

"I love, " said he, "women who make men of themselves just as little as Ilove effeminate men. There is an appropriate _rôle_ for every one in theworld. Of what use is this vagabondizing of fantasy? What does itaccomplish? Nothing! All this is nothing but do rangement of mind andfeeling. I dislike women who throw themselves in my arms, and for thisreason, if for no other, I dislike this woman, who is certainly one ofthat number. "

Madame de Staël's petitions to be permitted to return to Paris weretherefore rejected, but she was as little disposed to abandon herpurpose now as she was at the time she sought to gain Bonaparte'sgood-will. She continued to make attempts to achieve her aim, for it wasnot only her country that she wished to reconquer, but also a millionfrancs which she wished to have paid to her out of the French treasury. 

Her father, Minister Necker, had loaned his suffering country a millionfrancs, at a time of financial distress and famine, to buy bread for thestarving people, and Louis XVI. Had guaranteed, in writing, that this"national debt of France" should be returned. 

But the revolution that shattered the throne of the unfortunate king, also buried beneath the ruins of the olden time the promises and oathsthat had been written on parchment and paper. 

Madame de Staël now demanded that the emperor should fulfil the promisesof the overthrown king, and that the heir of the throne of the Bourbonsshould assume the obligations into which a Bourbon had entered withher father. 

She had once called Napoleon a god descended from heaven; and she evennow wished that he might still prove a god for her, namely, the godPluto, who should pour out a million upon her from his horn of plenty. 

As she could not go to France herself, she sent her son to plead withthe emperor, for herself and her children. 

Well knowing, however, how difficult it would be, even for her son tosecure an audience of the emperor, she addressed herself to QueenHortense in eloquent letters imploring her to exert her influence in herson's behalf. 

Hortense, ever full of pity for misfortune, felt the warmest sympathyand admiration for the genius of the great poetess, and interceded forMadame de Staël with great courage and eloquence. She alone ventured, regardless of Napoleon's frowns and displeasure, to plead the cause ofthe poor exile again and again, and to solicit her recall to France, asa simple act of justice; she even went so far in her generosity as toextend the hospitalities of her drawing-rooms to the poetess's son, whowas avoided and fled from by every one else. 

Hortense's soft entreaties and representations were at last successfulin soothing the emperor's anger. He allowed Madame de Staël to return toFrance, on the condition that she should never come to Paris or itsvicinity; he then also accorded Madame de Staël's son the long-soughtfavor of an audience. 

This interview of Napoleon with Madame de Staël's son is as remarkableas it is original. On this occasion, Napoleon openly expressed hisdislike and even his hatred as well of Madame de Staël as of her father, although he listened with generous composure to the warm defence of theson and grandson. 

Young Staël told the emperor of his mother's longing to return to herhome, and touchingly portrayed the sadness and unhappiness of her exile. 

"Ah, bah!" exclaimed the emperor, "your mother is in a state ofexaltation. I do not say that she is a bad woman. She has wit, and muchintellect, perhaps too much, but hers is an inconsiderate, aninsubordinate spirit. She has grown up in the chaos of a fallingmonarchy, and of a revolution, and she has amalgamized the two in hermind. This is all a source of danger; she would make proselytes, shemust be watched; she does not love me. The interests of those whom shemight compromise, require that I should not permit her to return toParis. If I should allow her to do so, she would place me under thenecessity of sending her to Bicétre, or of imprisoning her in theTemple, before six months elapsed; that would be extremely disagreeable, for it would cause a sensation, and injure me in the public opinion. Inform your mother that my resolution is irrevocable. While I live, sheshall not return to Paris. "

It was in vain that young Staël assured him in his mother's name, thatshe would avoid giving him the least occasion for displeasure, and thatshe would live in complete retirement if permitted to return to Paris. 

"Ah, yes! I know the value of fine promises!" exclaimed the emperor. "Iknow what the result would be, and I repeat it, it cannot be! She wouldbe the rallying-point of the whole Faubourg St. Germain. She live inretirement! Visits would be made her, and she would return them; shewould commit a thousand indiscretions, and say a thousand humorousthings, to which she attaches no importance, but which annoy me. Mygovernment is no jest, I take every thing seriously; I wish this to beunderstood, and you may proclaim it to the whole world!"

Young Staël had, however, the courage to continue his entreaties; heeven went so far as to inquire in all humility for the grounds of theemperor's ill-will against his mother. He said he had been assured thatNecker's last work was more particularly the cause of the emperor'sdispleasure, and that he believed Madame de Staël had assisted inwriting it. This was, however, not so, and he could solemnly assure theemperor that his mother had taken no part in it whatever. Besides, Necker had also done full justice to the emperor in this work. 

"Justice, indeed! He calls me the 'necessary man. ' The necessary man!and yet, according to his book, the first step necessary to be taken, was to take off this necessary man's head! Yes, I was necessary torepair all that your grandfather had destroyed! It is he who overthrewthe monarchy, and brought Louis XVI. To the scaffold!"

"Sire!" exclaimed the young man, deeply agitated, "you are then notaware that my grandfather's estates were confiscated because he defendedthe king!"

"A fine defence, indeed! If I give a man poison, and then, when he liesin the death-struggle, give him an antidote, can you then maintain thatI wished to save this man? It was in this manner that M. Necker defendedLouis XVI. The confiscations of which you speak prove nothing. Robespierre's property was also confiscated. Not even Robespierre, Marat, and Danton, have brought such misery upon France as Necker; he itis who made the revolution. You did not see it, but I was present inthose days of horror and public distress; but I give you my word thatthey shall return no more while I live! Your schemers write out theirutopias, the simple-minded read these dreams, they are printed andbelieved in; the common welfare is in everybody's mouth, and soon thereis no more bread for the people; it revolts, and that is the usualresult of all these fine theories! Your grandfather is to blame for theorgies that brought France to desperation. "

Then lowering his voice, from the excited, almost angry tone in which hehad been speaking, to a milder one, the emperor approached the youngman, who stood before him, pale, and visibly agitated. With thatcharming air of friendly intimacy that no one knew so well how to assumeas Napoleon, he gently pinched the tip of the young man's ear, theemperor's usual way of making peace with any one to whom he wished well, after a little difficulty. 

"You are still young, " said he; "if you possessed my age and experience, you would judge of these matters differently. Your candor has notoffended, but pleased me; I like to see a son defend his mother's cause!Your mother has entrusted you with a very difficult commission, and youhave executed it with much spirit. It gives me pleasure to haveconversed with you, for I love the young when they are straightforwardand not too 'argumentative. ' But I can nevertheless give you no falsehopes! You will accomplish nothing! If your mother were in prison, Ishould not hesitate to grant you her release. But she is in exile, andnothing can induce me to recall her. "

"But, sire, is one not quite as unhappy far from home and friends, as inprison?"

"Ah, bah! those are romantic notions! You have heard that said aboutyour mother. She is truly greatly to be pitied. With the exception ofParis, she has the whole of Europe for her prison!"

"But, sire, all her friends are in Paris!"

"With her intellect, she will be able to acquire new ones everywhere. Moreover, I cannot understand why she should desire to be in Paris. Whydoes she so long to place herself in the immediate reach of tyranny? Yousee I pronounce the decisive word! I am really unable to comprehend it. Can she not go to Rome, Berlin, Vienna, Milan, or London? Yes, Londonwould be the right place! There she can perpetrate libels whenever shepleases. At all of these places I will leave her undisturbed with thegreatest pleasure; but Paris is my residence, and there I will toleratethose only who love me! On this the world can depend. I know what wouldhappen, if I should permit your mother to return to Paris. She wouldcommit new follies; she would corrupt those who surround me; she wouldcorrupt Garat, as she once corrupted the tribunal; of course, she wouldpromise all things, but she would, nevertheless, not avoid engaging inpolitics. "

"Sire, " I can assure you that my mother does not occupy herself withpolitics at all; she devotes herself exclusively to the society of herfriends, and to literature. "

"That is the right word, and I fully understand it. One talks politicswhile talking of literature, of morals, of the fine arts, and of everyconceivable thing! If your mother were in Paris, her latest _bon mots_and phrases would be recited to me daily; perhaps they would be onlyinvented; but I tell you I will have nothing of the kind in the city inwhich I reside! It would be best for her to go to London; advise her todo so. As far as your grandfather is concerned, I have certainly notsaid too much; M. Necker had no administrative ability. Once more, inform your mother that I shall never permit her to return to Paris. "

"But if sacred interests should require her presence here for a fewdays, your majesty would at least--"

"What? Sacred interests? What does that mean?"

"Sire, " the presence of my mother will be necessary, in order to procurefrom your majesty's government the return of a sacred debt. "

"Ah, bah! sacred! Are not all the debts of the state sacred?"

"Without doubt, sire; but ours is accompanied by peculiarcircumstances. "

"Peculiar circumstances!" exclaimed the emperor, rising to terminatethe long interview, that began to weary him. "What creditor of the statedoes not say the same of his debt? Moreover, I know too little of yourrelations toward my government. This matter does not concern me, and Iwill not be mixed up in it. If the laws are for you, all will go wellwithout my interference; but if it requires influence, I shall havenothing to do with it, for I should be rather against than for you!"

"Sire, " said young Staël, venturing to speak once more, as the emperorwas on the point of leaving, "sire, my brother and I were anxious tosettle in France; but how could we live in a land in which our motherwould not be allowed to live with us everywhere?"

Already standing on the threshold of the door, the emperor turned to himhastily. "I have no desire whatever to have you settle here, " said he;"on the contrary. I advise you not to do so. Go to England. There theyhave a _penchant_ for Genevese, parlor-politicians, etc. ; therefore, goto England; for I must say, I should be rather ill than well disposedtoward you[35]!"

[Footnote 35: Bourrienne, vol. Viii. , p. 355. ]

CHAPTER IV. 

MADAME DE STAËL'S RETURN TO PARIS. 

Madame de Staël returned to her cherished France with the restoration. She came back thirsting for new honor and renown, and determined, aboveall, to have her work republished in Germany, its publication havingbeen once suppressed by the imperial police. She entertained thepleasing hope that the new court would forget that she was Necker'sdaughter, receive her with open arms, and accord her the influence towhich her active mind and genius entitled her. 

But she was laboring under an error, by which she was not destined to belong deceived. She was received at court with the cold politeness whichis more terrible than insult. The king, while speaking of her with hisfriends, called Madame de Staël "a Chateaubriand in petticoats. " TheDuchess d'Angoulême seemed never to see the celebrated poetess, andnever addressed a word to her; the rest of the court met Madame de Staëlarmed to the teeth with all the hatred and prejudices of the olden time. 

It was also in vain that Madame de Staël endeavored to act an importantpart at the new court; they refused to regard her as an authority orpower, but treated her as a mere authoress; her counsel was ridiculed, and they dared even to question the renown of M. Necker. 

"I am unfortunate, " said Madame de Staël to Countess Ducayla; "Napoleonhated me because he believed me to possess intellect; these people repelme because I at least possess ordinary human understanding! I cancertainly get on very well without them; but, as my presence displeasesthem, I shall, at least, endeavor to get my money from them. "

The "sacred debt" had not been paid under the empire, and it was nowMadame de Staël's intention to obtain from the king what the emperorhad refused. 

She was well aware of the influence which Countess Ducayla exercisedover Louis XVIII. , and she now hastened to call on the beautifulcountess--whose acquaintance she had made under peculiar circumstances, in a romantic love intrigue--in order to renew the friendship they hadthen vowed to each other. 

The countess had not forgotten this friendship, and she was now gratefulfor the service Madame de Staël had then shown her. She helped to securethe liquidation of the sacred debt, and, upon the order of King Louis, the million was paid over to Madame de Staël. "But, " says the countess, in her memoirs, "I believe the recovery of this million cost Madame deStaël four hundred thousand francs, besides a set of jewelry that wasworth at least one hundred thousand. "

The countess's purse and the jewelry case, however, doubtlessly boreevidence that she might as well have said "I know" as "I believe. "

Besides the four hundred thousand francs and the jewelry, Madame deStaël also gave the countess a piece of advice. "Make the most of thefavor you now enjoy, " said she to her; "but do so quickly, for, asmatters are now conducted, I fear that the restoration will soon have tobe restored. "

"What do you mean by that?" asked the countess, smiling. 

"I mean that, with the exception of the king, who perhaps does not sayall he thinks, the others are still doing precisely as they always havedone, and Heaven knows to what extremities their folly is destined tobring them! They mock at the old soldiers and assist the young priests, and this is the best means of ruining France. "

Countess Ducayla considered this prediction of her intellectual friendas a mere cloud with which discontent and disappointed ambition hadobscured the otherwise clear vision of Madame de Staël, and ridiculedthe idea, little dreaming how soon her words were to be fulfilled. 

Madame de Staël consoled herself for her cold reception at court, byreceiving the best society of Paris in her parlors, and entertainingthem with biting _bon mots_ and witty _persiflage_, at the expense ofthe grand notabilities, who had suddenly arisen with their imposinggenealogical trees out of the ruins and oblivion of the past. 

Madame de Staël now also remembered the kindness Queen Hortense hadshown her during her exile; and not to her only, but also to her friend, Madame Récamier, who had also been exiled by Napoleon, not, however, ashis enemies said, "because she was Madame de Staël's friend, " butsimply because she patronized and belonged to the so-called "littlechurch. " The "little church" was an organization born of the spirit ofopposition of the Faubourg St. Germain, and a portion of the Catholicclergy, and was one of those things appertaining to the internalrelations of France that were most annoying and disagreeable tothe emperor. 

Queen Hortense had espoused the cause of Madame de Staël and of MadameRécamier with generous warmth. She had eloquently interceded for therecall of both from their exile; and, now that the course of events hadrestored them to their home, both ladies came to the queen to thank herfor her kindness and generosity. 

Louise de Cochelet has described this visit of Madame de Staël sowittily, with so much _naïveté_, and with such peculiar local coloring, that we cannot refrain from laying a literal translation of the samebefore the reader. 

CHAPTER V. 

MADAME DE STAËL'S VISIT TO QUEEN HORTENSE. 

Louise de Cochelet relates as follows: "Madame de Staël and MadameRécamier had begged permission of the queen to visit her, for thepurpose of tendering their thanks. The queen invited them to visit herat St. Leu, on the following day. 

"She asked my advice as to which of the members of her social circlewere best qualified to cope with Madame de Staël. 

"'I, for my part, ' said the queen, 'have not the courage to take thelead in the conversation; one cannot be very intellectual when sad atheart, and I fear my dullness will infect the others. '

"We let quite a number of amiable persons pass before us in review, andI amused myself at the mention of each new name, by saying, 'He is toodull for Madame de Staël. '

"The queen laughed, and the list of those who were to be invited was atlast agreed upon. We all awaited the arrival of the two ladies in greatsuspense. The obligation imposed on us by the queen, of beingintellectual at all hazards, had the effect of conjuring up a somewhatembarrassed and stupid expression to our faces. We presented theappearance of actors on the stage looking at each other, while awaitingthe rise of the curtain. Jests and _bon mots_ followed each other inrapid succession until the arrival of the carriage recalled to our facesan expression of official earnestness. 

"Madame Récamier, still young, and very handsome, and with an expressionof _naïveté_ in her charming countenance, made the impression on me ofbeing a young lady in love, carefully watched over by too severe a_duenna, _ her timid, gentle manner contrasted so strongly with thesomewhat too masculine self-consciousness of her companion. Madame deStaël is, however, generally admitted to have been good and kind, particularly to this friend, and I only speak of the impression she madeon one to whom she was a stranger, at first sight. 

"Madame de Staël's extremely dark complexion, her original toilet, herperfectly bare shoulders, of which either might have been verybeautiful, but which harmonized very poorly with each other; her whole_ensemble_ was far from approximating to the standard of the ideal I hadformed of the authoress of Delphine and Corinne. I had almost hoped tofind in her one of the heroines she had so beautifully portrayed, and Iwas therefore struck dumb with astonishment. But, after the first shock, I was at least compelled to acknowledge that she possessed verybeautiful and expressive eyes; and yet it seemed impossible for me tofind anything in her countenance on which love could fasten, although Ihave been told that she has often inspired that sentiment. 

"When I afterward expressed my astonishment to the queen, she replied:'It is, perhaps, because she is capable of such great love herself, thatshe succeeds in inspiring others with love; moreover, it flatters aman's self-love to be noticed by such a woman, and, in the end, one candispense with beauty, when one has Madame de Staël's intellect. '

"The queen inquired after Madame de Staël's daughter, who had not comewith her, and who was said to be truly charming. I believe the younggentlemen of our party could have confronted the beautiful eyes of thedaughter with still greater amiability than those of the mother, but anattack of toothache had prevented her coming. 

"After the first compliments and salutations, the queen proposed to theladies to take a look at her park. They seated themselves on thecushions of the queen's large _char à banc_, which has become historicon account of the many high and celebrated personages who have beendriven in it at different times. The Emperor Napoleon was, however, notone of this number, as he never visited St. Leu; but, with thisexception, there are few of the great and celebrated who have not beenseated in it at one time or another. 

"As they drove through the park and the forest of Montmorency, in a walkonly, the conversation was kept up as in the parlor, and the consumptionof intellectuality was continued. The beautiful neighborhood, thatreminded one of Switzerland, as it was remarked, was duly admired. ThenItaly was spoken of. The queen, who had been somewhat _distraite_, andhad good cause to be somewhat sad, and disposed to commune with herself, addressed Madame de Staël with the question, 'You have been inItaly, then?'

"Madame de Staël was, as it were, transfixed with dismay, and thegentlemen exclaimed with one accord: 'And Corinne? and Corinne?'

"'Ah, that is true, ' said the queen, in embarrassment, awakening, as itwere, from her dreams. 

"'Is it possible, ' asked M. De Canonville, 'your majesty has not readCorinne?'

"'Yes--no, ' said the queen, visibly confused, 'I shall read it again, 'and, in order to conceal an emotion that I alone could understand, sheabruptly changed the topic of conversation. 

"She might have said the truth, and simply informed them that the bookhad appeared just at the time her eldest son had died in Holland. Theking, disquieted at seeing her so profoundly given up to her grief, believed, in accordance with Corvisart's advice, that it was necessaryto arouse her from this state of mental dejection at all hazards. It wasdetermined that I should read 'Corinne' to her. She was not in acondition to pay much attention to it, but she had involuntarilyretained some remembrance of this romance. Since then, I had severaltimes asked permission of the queen to read Corinne to her, but she hadalways refused. 'No, no, ' said she, 'not yet; this romance hasidentified itself with my sorrow. Its name alone recalls the mostfearful period of my whole life. I have not yet the courage to renewthese painful impressions. '

"I, alone, had therefore been able to divine what had embarrassed andmoved the queen so much when she replied to the question addressed toher concerning Corinne. But the authoress could, of course, onlyinterpret it as indicating indifference for her master-work, and I toldthe queen on the following day that it would have been better to haveconfessed the cause of her confusion to Madame de Staël. 

"'Madame de Staël would not have understood me, ' said she; 'now, I amlost to her good opinion, she will consider me a simpleton, but it wasnot the time to speak of myself, and of my painful reminiscences. '

"The large _char à banc_ was always preferred to the handsomestcarriages (although it was very plain, and consisted of two woodenbenches covered with cushions, placed opposite each other), because itwas more favorable for conversation. But it afforded no security againstinclement weather, and this we were soon to experience. The rain pouredin streams, and we all returned to the castle thoroughly wet. A room wasthere prepared and offered the ladies, in which they might repair thedisarrangement of their toilet caused by the storm. I remained with themlong, kept there by the questions of Madame de Staël concerning thequeen and her son, which questions were fairly showered upon me. Therewas now no longer a question of intellectuality, but merely of washing, hair-dressing, and reposing, with an entire abandonment of the displayof mind, the copiousness of which I had been compelled to admire but amoment before. I said to myself: 'There they are, face to face, like therest of the world, with material life, these two celebrated women, whoare everywhere sought after, and received with such markedconsideration. There they are, as wet as myself, and as little poetic. 'We were really behind the curtain, but it was shortly to rise again. 

"Voices were heard under the window; among other voices, a German accentwas audible, and both ladies immediately exclaimed: 'Ah, that isPrince Augustus of Prussia!'

"No one expected the prince, and this meeting with the two ladies hadtherefore the appearance of being accidental. He had come merely to paythe queen a visit, and it was so near dinner-time, that politenessrequired that he should be invited to remain. And this was doubtlesswhat he wished. 

"The prince had the queen on his right, and Madame de Staël on his left. The servant of the latter had laid a little green twig on her napkin, which she twisted between her fingers while speaking, as was her habit. The conversation was animated, and it was amusing to observe Madame deStaël gesticulating with the little twig in her fingers. One might havesupposed that some fairy had given her this talisman, and that hergenius was dependent upon this little twig. 

"Constantinople, with which city several of the gentlemen were wellacquainted, was now the topic of conversation. Madame de Staël thoughtit would be a delightful task for an intellectual woman, to turn thesultan's head, and then to compel him to give his Turks a constitution. After dinner, freedom of the press was also a topic of conversation. 

"Madame de Staël astonished me, not only by the brilliancy of hergenius, but also by the deep earnestness with which she treatedquestions of that kind, for until then custom had not allowed women todiscuss such matters. At entertainments, philosophy, morals, sentiment, heroism, and the like, had been the subjects of conversation, but theemperor monopolized politics. His era was that of actions, and, we maysay it with pride, of great actions, while the era that followed wasessentially that of great words, and of political and literarycontroversies. 

"Madame de Staël spoke to the queen of her motto: 'Do that which isright, happen what may. '

"'In my exile, which you so kindly endeavored to terminate, ' said she, 'I often repeated this motto, and thought of you while doing so. '

"While speaking thus, her countenance was illumined by the reflection ofinward emotion, and I found her beautiful. She was no longer the womanof mind only, but also the woman of heart and feeling, and Icomprehended at this moment how charming she could be. 

"Afterward, she had a long conversation with the queen touching theemperor. 'Why was he so angry with me?' asked she. 'He could not haveknown how much I admired him! I will see him--I shall go to Elba! Do youthink he would receive me well? I was born to worship this man, and hehas repelled me. '

'Ah, madame, ' replied the queen, 'I have often heard the emperor saythat he had a great mission to fulfil, and that he could compare hislabors with the exertions of a man who, having the summit of a steepmountain ever before his eyes, strains every nerve to attain it, evertoiling painfully upward, and allowing his progress to be arrested by noobstacle whatever. "All the worse for those, " said he, "who meet me onmy course--I can show them no consideration. "'

"'You met him on his course, madame; perhaps he would have extended youa helping hand, after having reached the summit of his mountain. '

"'I must speak with him, ' said Madame de Staël; 'I have been injured inhis opinion. '

"'I think so too, ' replied the queen, 'but you would judge him ill, ifyou considered him capable of hating any one. He believed you to be hisenemy, and he feared you, which was something very unusual for him, 'added she, with a smile. 'Now that he is unfortunate, you will showyourself his friend, and prove yourself to be such, and I am satisfiedthat he will receive you well. '

"Madame de Staël also occupied herself a great deal with the youngprinces, but she met with worse success with them than with us. It wasperhaps in order to judge of their mental capacity, that she showeredunsuitable questions upon them. 

"'Do you love your uncle?'

"'Very much, madame!'

"'And will you also be as fond of war as he is?'

"'Yes, if it did not cause so much misery. '

'Is it true that he often made you repeat a fable commencing with thewords, "The strongest is always in the right?"'

"'Madame, he often made us repeat fables, but this one not oftener thanany other. '

"Young Prince Napoleon, a boy of astounding mental capacity andprecocious judgment, answered all these questions with the greatestcomposure, and, at the conclusion of this examination, turned to me andsaid quite audibly: 'This lady asks a great many questions. Is that whatyou call being intellectual?'

"After the departure of our distinguished visitors, we all indulged inan expression of opinion concerning them, and young Prince Napoleon wasthe one upon whom the ladies had made the least flattering impression, but he only ventured to intimate as much in a low voice. 

"I for my part had been more dazzled than gladdened by this visit. Onecould not avoid admiring this genius in spite of its inconsiderateness, and its wanderings, but there was nothing pleasing, nothing graceful andwomanly, in Madame de Staël's manner[36]. "

[Footnote 36: Cochelet, Mémoires sur la Reine Hortense, vol. I. , pp. 429-440. ]

CHAPTER VI. 

THE OLD AND THE NEW ERA. 

The restoration was accomplished. The allies had at last withdrawn fromthe kingdom, and Louis XVIII. Was now the independent ruler of France. In him, in the returned members of his family, and in the emigrants whowere pouring into the country from all quarters, was represented theold era of France, the era of despotic royal power, of brilliantmanners, of intrigues, of aristocratic ideas, of ease and luxury. Opposed to them stood the France of the new era, the generation formedby Napoleon and the revolution, the new aristocracy, who possessed noother ancestors than merit and valorous deeds, an aristocracy that hadnothing to relate of the _oeil de boeuf_ and the _petites maisons_, butan aristocracy that could tell of the battle-field and of the hospitalsin which their wounds had been healed. 

These two parties stood opposed to each other. 

Old and young France now carried on an hourly, continuous warfare at thecourt of Louis XVIII. , with this difference, however, that young France, hitherto ever victorious, now experienced a continuous series ofreverses and humiliations. Old France was now victorious. Not victoriousthrough its gallantry and merit, but through its past, which itendeavored to connect with the present, without considering the chasmwhich lay between. 

True, King Louis had agreed, in the treaty of the 11th of April, thatnone of his subjects should be deprived of their titles and dignities;and the new dukes, princes, marshals, counts, and barons, couldtherefore appear at court, but they played but a sad and humiliating_rôle_, and they were made to feel that they were only tolerated, andnot welcome. 

The gentlemen who, before the revolution, had been entitled to seats inthe royal equipages, still retained this privilege, but the doors ofthese equipages were never opened to the gentlemen of the new Napoleonicnobility. "The ladies of the old era still retained their _tabouret, _ aswell as their grand and little _entrée_ to the Tuileries and the Louvre, and it would have been considered very arrogant if the duchesses of thenew era had made claim to similar honors. "

It was the Duchess d'Angoulême who took the lead and set the FaubourgSt. Germain an example of intolerance and arrogant pretensions inignoring the empire. She was the most unrelenting enemy of the new era, born of the revolution, and of its representatives; it is true, however, that she, who was the daughter of the beheaded royal pair, and who hadherself so long languished in the Temple, had been familiar with thehorrors of the revolution in their saddest and most painful features. She now determined, as she could no longer punish, to at least forgetthis era, and to seem to be entirely oblivious of its existence. 

At one of the first dinners given by the king to the allies, the Duchessd'Angoulême, who sat next to the King of Bavaria, pointed to theGrand-duke of Baden, and asked: "Is not this the prince who married aprincess of Bonaparte's making? What weakness to ally one's self insuch a manner with that general!"

The duchess did not or would not remember that the King of Bavaria, aswell as the Emperor of Austria, who sat on her other side, and couldwell hear her words, had also allied themselves with General Bonaparte. 

After she had again installed herself in the rooms she had formerlyoccupied in the Tuileries, the duchess asked old Dubois, who hadformerly tuned her piano, and had retained this office under the empire, and who now showed her the new and elegant instruments provided byJosephine--she asked him: "What has become of my piano?"

This "piano" had been an old and worn-out concern, and the duchess wassurprised at not finding it, as though almost thirty years had notpassed since she had seen it last; as though the 10th of August, 1792, the day on which the populace demolished the Tuileries, had never been!

But the period from 1795 to 1814 was ignored on principle, and theBourbons seemed really to have quite forgotten that more than one nightlay between the last levee of King Louis XVI. And the levee of to-day ofKing Louis XVIII. They seemed astonished that persons they had known aschildren had grown up since they last saw them, and insisted on treatingevery one as they had done in 1789. 

After the Empress Josephine's death, Count d'Artois paid a visit toMalmaison, a place that had hardly existed before the revolution, andwhich owed its creation to Josephine's love and taste for art. 

The empress, who had a great fondness for botany, had caused magnificentgreenhouses to be erected at Malmaison; in these all the plants andflowers of the world had been collected. Knowing her taste, all theprinces of Europe had sent her, in the days of her grandeur, in orderto afford her a moment's gratification, the rarest exotics. The PrinceRegent of England had even found means, during the war with France, tosend her a number of rare West-Indian plants. In this manner hercollection had become the richest and most complete in all Europe. 

Count d'Artois, as above said, had come to Malmaison to view thiscelebrated place of sojourn of Josephine, and, while being conductedthrough the greenhouses, he exclaimed, as though he recognized his oldflowers of 1789: "Ah, here are our plants of Trianon!"

And, like their masters the Bourbons, the emigrants had also returned toFrance with the same ideas with which they had fled the country. Theyendeavored, in all their manners, habits, and pretensions, to beginagain precisely where they had left off in 1789. They had so lively anappreciation of their own merit, that they took no notice whatever ofother people's, and yet their greatest merit consisted in havingemigrated. 

For this merit they now demanded a reward. 

All of these returned emigrants demanded rewards, positions, andpensions, and considered it incomprehensible that those who were alreadyin possession were not at once deprived of them. Intrigues were theorder of the day, and in general the representatives of the old erasucceeded in supplanting those of the new era in offices and pensions aswell as in court honors. All the high positions in the army were filledby the marquises, dukes, and counts, of the old era, who had sewedtapestry and picked silk in Coblentz, while the France of the new erawas fighting on the battle-field, and they now began to teach thesoldiers of the empire the old drill of 1780. 

The etiquette of the olden time was restored, and the same luxurious andlascivious disposition prevailed among these cavaliers of the formercentury which had been approved in the _oeil de boeuf_ and in the_petites maisons_ of the old era. 

These old cavaliers felt contempt for the young Frenchmen of the new eraon account of their pedantic morality; they scornfully regarded men whoperhaps had not more than one mistress, and to whom the wife of a friendwas so sacred, that they never dared to approach her with adisrespectful thought even. 

These legitimist gentlemen entertained themselves chiefly withreflections over the past, and their own grandeur. In the midst of themany new things by which they were surrounded, some of which theyunfortunately found it impossible to ignore, it was their sweetestrelaxation to give themselves up entirely to the remembrance of the old_régime_, and when they spoke of this era, they forgot their age anddebility, and were once more the young _roués_ of the _oeil de boeuf_. 

Once in the antechamber of King Louis XVIII. , while the Marquis deChimène and the Duke de Lauraguais, two old heroes of the frivolous era, in which the boudoir and the _petites maisons_ were the battle-field, and the myrtle instead of the laurel the reward of victory, while thesegentlemen were conversing of some occurrence under the old government, the Duke de Lauraguais, in order to more nearly fix the date of theoccurrence of which they were speaking, remarked to the marquis, "It wasin the year in which I had my _liaison_ with your wife. "

"Ah, yes, " replied the marquis, with perfect composure, "that was in theyear 1776. "

Neither of the gentlemen found anything strange in this allusion to thepast. The _liaison_ in question had been a perfectly commonplace matter, and it would have been as ridiculous in the duke to deny it as for themarquis to have shown any indignation. 

The wisest and most enlightened of all these gentlemen was their head, King Louis XVIII. Himself. 

He was well aware of the errors of those who surrounded him, and placedbut little confidence in the representatives of the old court. But hewas nevertheless powerless to withdraw himself from their influence, andafter he had accorded the people the charter, in opposition to the willand opinion of the whole royal family, of his whole court and of hisministers, and had sworn to support it in spite of the opposition of"Monsieur" and the Prince de Condé, who was in the habit of calling thecharter "_Mademoiselle la Constitution de 1791, _" Louis withdrew to theretirement of his apartments in the Tuileries, and left his ministerBlacas to attend to the little details of government, the king deemingthe great ones only worthy of his attention. 

CHAPTER VII. 

KING LOUIS XVIII. 

King Louis XVIII. Was, however, in the retirement of his palace, stillthe most enlightened and unprejudiced of the representatives of the oldera; he clearly saw many things to which his advisers purposely closedtheir eyes. To his astonishment, he observed that the men who had risento greatness under Bonaparte, and who had fallen to the king along withthe rest of his inheritance, were not so ridiculous, awkward, andfoolish, as they had been represented to be. 

"I had been made to suppose, " said Louis XVIII. , "that these generals ofBonaparte were peasants and ruffians, but such is not the case. Heschooled these men well. They are polite, and quite as shrewd as therepresentatives of the old court. We must conduct ourselves verycautiously toward them. "

This kind of recognition of the past which sometimes escaped LouisXVIII. , was a subject of bitter displeasure to the gentlemen of the oldera, and they let the king perceive it. 

King Louis felt this, and, in order to conciliate his court, he oftensaw himself compelled to humiliate "the _parvenus_" who had forcedthemselves among the former. 

Incessant quarrelling and intriguing within the Tuileries was theconsequence, and Louis was often dejected, uneasy, and angry, in themidst of the splendor that surrounded him. 

"I am angry with myself and the others, " said he on one occasion to anintimate friend. "An invisible and secret power is ever working inopposition to my will, frustrating my plans, and paralyzing myauthority. "

"And yet you are king!"

"Undoubtedly I am king!" exclaimed Louis, angrily; "but am I alsomaster? The king is he who all his life long receives ambassadors, givestiresome audiences, listens to annihilating discourses, goes in state toNotre-Dame, dines in public once a year, and is pompously buried in St. Denis when he dies. The master is he who commands and can enforceobedience, who puts an end to intriguing, and can silence old women aswell as priests. Bonaparte was king and master at the same time! Hisministers were his clerks, the kings his brothers merely his agents, andhis courtiers nothing more than his servants. His ministers vied withhis senate in servility, and his _Corps Législatif_ sought to outdo hissenate and the church in subserviency. He was an extraordinary and anenviable man, for he had not only devoted servants and faithful friends, but also an accommodating church[37]. "

[Footnote 37: Mémoires d'une Femme de Qualité, vol. V. , p. 35. ]

King Louis XVIII. , weary of the incessant intrigues with which hiscourtiers occupied themselves, withdrew himself more and more into theretirement of his palace, and left the affairs of state to the care ofM. De Blacas, who, with all his arrogance and egotism, knew very littleabout governing. 

The king preferred to entertain himself with his friends, to read themportions of his memoirs, to afford them an opportunity of admiring hisverses, and to regale them with his witty and not always chasteanecdotes; he preferred all these things to tedious and useless disputeswith his ministers. He had given his people the charter, and hisministers might now govern in accordance with this instrument. 

"The people demand liberty, " said the king. "I give them enough of it toprotect them against despotism, without according them unbridledlicense. Formerly, the taxes appointed by my mere will would have mademe odious; now the people tax themselves. Hereafter, I have nothing todo but to confer benefits and show mercy, for the responsibility for allthe evil that is done will rest entirely with my ministers[38]. "

[Footnote 38: Mémoires d'une Femme de Qualité, vol. I. , p. 410. ]

While his ministers were thus governing according to the charter, and"doing evil, " the king, who now had nothing but "good" to do, wasbusying himself in settling the weighty questions of the old etiquette. 

One of the most important features of this etiquette was the question ofthe fashions that should now be introduced at court; for it was, ofcourse, absurd to think of adopting the fashions of the empire, andthereby recognize at court that there had really been a changesince 1789. 

They desired to effect a counter-revolution, not only in politics, butalso in fashions; and this important matter occupied the attention ofthe grand dignitaries of the court for weeks before the first grandlevee that the king was to hold in the Tuilerics. But, as nothing wasaccomplished by their united wisdom, the king finally held a privateconsultation with his most intimate gentleman and lady friends on thisimportant matter, that had, unfortunately, not been determined bythe charter. 

The grand-master of ceremonies, M. De Bregé, declared to the king thatit was altogether improper to continue the fashions of the empire at thecourt of the legitimate King of France. 

"We are, therefore, to have powder, coats-of-mail, etc. , " observed theking. 

M. De Bregé replied, with all gravity, that he had given this subjecthis earnest consideration day and night, but that he had not yet arrivedat a conclusion worthy of the grand-master of ceremonies of thelegitimate king. 

"Sire, " said the Duke de Chartres, smiling, "I, for my part, demandknee-breeches, shoe-buckles, and the cue. "

"But I, " exclaimed the Prince de Poir, who had remained in France duringthe empire, "I demand damages, if we are to be compelled to return tothe old fashions and clothing before the new ones are worn out!"

The grand-master of ceremonies replied to this jest at his expense witha profound sigh only; and the king at last put an end to this greatquestion, by deciding that every one should be permitted to follow theold or new fashions, according to his individual taste and inclination. 

The grand-master of ceremonies was compelled to submit to this royaldecision; but in doing so he observed, with profound sadness: "Yourmajesty is pleased to smile, but dress makes half the man; uniformity ofattire confounds the distinctions of rank, and leads directly to anagrarian law. "

"Yes, marquis, " exclaimed the king, "you think precisely as Figaro. Manya man laughs at a judge in a short dress, who trembles before aprocurator in a long gown[39]. "

[Footnote 39: Mémoires d'une Femme de Qualité, vol. I. , p. 384. ]

But while the king suppressed the counter-revolution in fashions, heallowed the grand-master of ceremonies to reintroduce the entireetiquette of the old era. In conformity with this etiquette, the kingcould not rise from his couch in the morning until the doors had beenopened to all those who had the _grande entrée_--that is to say, to theofficers of his household, the marshals of France, several favoredladies; further, to his _cafetier_, his tailor, the bearer of hisslippers, his barber, with two assistants, his watchmaker, and hisapothecaries. 

The king was dressed in the presence of all these favored individuals, etiquette permitting him only to adjust his necktie himself, butrequiring him, however, to empty his pockets of their contents of theprevious day. 

The usage of the old era, "the public dinner of the royal family, " wasalso reintroduced; and the grand-master of ceremonies not only found itnecessary to make preparations for this dinner weeks beforehand, but theking was also compelled to occupy himself with this matter, and toappoint for this great ceremony the necessary "officers ofprovisions"--that is to say, the wine-taster, the cup-bearers, the granddoorkeepers, and the cook-in-chief. 

At this first grand public dinner, the celebrated and indispensable"ship" of the royal board stood again immediately in front of the king'sseat. This old "ship" of the royal board, an antique work of art whichthe city of Paris had once presented to a King of France, had also beenlost in the grand shipwreck of 1792, and the grand-master of ceremonieshad been compelled to have a new one made by the court jeweller for theoccasion. This "ship" was a work in gilded silver, in form of a vesseldeprived of its masts and rigging; and in the same, between two goldenplates, were contained the perfumed napkins of the king. In accordancewith the old etiquette, no one, not even the princes and princesses, could pass the "ship" without making a profound obeisance, which theywere also compelled to make on passing the royal couch. 

The king restored yet another fashion of the old era--the fashion of the"royal lady-friends. "

Like his brother the Count d'Artois, Louis XVIII. Also had hislady-friends; and among these the beautiful and witty Countess Ducaylaoccupied the first position. It was her office to amuse the king, anddissipate the dark clouds that were only too often to be seen on thebrow of King Louis, who was chained to his arm-chair by ill-health, weakness, and excessive corpulency. She narrated to him the _chroniquescandaleuse_ of the imperial court; she reminded him of the old affairsof his youth, which the king knew how to relate with so much wit andhumor, and which he so loved to relate; it devolved upon her to examinethe letters of the "black cabinet, " and to read the more interestingones to the king. 

King Louis was not ungrateful to his royal friend, and he rewarded herin a truly royal manner for sometimes banishing _ennui_ from hisapartments. Finding that the countess had no intimate acquaintance withthe contents of the Bible, he gave her the splendid Bible of Royaumont, ornamented with one hundred and fifty magnificent engravings, afterpaintings of Raphael. Instead of tissue-paper, a thousand-franc notecovered each of these engravings[40]. 

[Footnote 40: Amours et Galanteries des Rois de France, par St. Edme, vol. Ii. , p. 383. Mémoires d'une Femme de Qualité, vol. I. , p. 409. ]

On another occasion, the king gave her a copy of the "Charter;" and inthis each leaf was also covered with a thousand-franc note, as inthe Bible. 

For so many proofs of the royal generosity, the beautiful countess, perhaps willingly, submitted to be called "the royal snuff-box, " whichappellation had its origin in the habit which the king fondly indulgedin of strewing snuff on the countess's lovely shoulder, and thensnuffing it up with his nose. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE DRAWING-KOOM OF THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU. 

While the etiquette and frivolity of the old era were being introducedanew at the Tuileries, and while M. De Blacas was governing incomplacent recklessness, time was progressing, notwithstanding hisendeavors to turn it backward in his flight. 

While, out of the incessant conflict between the old and the new France, a discontented France was being born, Napoleon, the Emperor of Elba, wasforming great plans of conquest, and preparing in secret understandingwith the faithful, to leave his place of exile and return to France. 

He well knew that he could rely on his old army--on the army who loudlycried, "_Vive le roi!_" and then added, _sotto voce_, "_de Rome, et sonpetit papa_[41]!"

[Footnote 41: Cochelet, Mémoires sur la Reine Hortense, vol. Iii, p. 121. ]

Hortense, the new Duchess of St. Leu, took but little part in all thesethings. She had, notwithstanding her youth and beauty, in a measuretaken leave of the world. She felt herself to be no longer the woman, but only the mother; her sons were the objects of all her tenderness andlove, and she lived for them only. In her retirement at St. Leu, hertime was devoted to the arts, to reading, and to study; and, afterhaving been thus occupied throughout the day, she passed the evening inher drawing-room, in unrestrained intellectual conversation withher friends. 

For she had friends who had remained true, notwithstanding the obscurityinto which she had withdrawn herself, and who, although they filledimportant positions at the new court, had retained their friendship forthe solitary dethroned queen. 

With these friends the Duchess of St. Leu conversed, in the evening, inher parlor, of the grand and beautiful past, giving themselves upentirely to these recollections, little dreaming that this harmlessrelaxation could awaken suspicion. 

For the Duke of Otranto, who had succeeded in his shrewdness inretaining his position of minister of police, as well under Louis XVIII. As under Napoleon, had his spies everywhere; he knew of all that wassaid in every parlor of Paris; he knew also that it was the custom, inthe parlors of the Duchess of St. Leu, to look from the dark presentback at the brilliant past, and to console one's self for the littlenessof the present, with the recollection of the grandeur of departed days!And Fouché, or rather the Duke of Otranto, knew how to utilizeeverything. 

In order to arouse Minister Blacas out of his stupid dream of security, to a realizing sense of the grave events that were taking place, Fouchétold him that a conspiracy against the government was being formed inthe parlors of the Duchess of St. Leu; that all those who were secretadherents of Bonaparte were in the habit of assembling there, andplanning the deliverance of the emperor from Elba. In order, however, onthe other hand, to provide against the possibility of Napoleon's return, the Duke of Otranto hastened to the Duchess of St. Leu, to warn her andconjure her to be on her guard against the spies by whom she wassurrounded, as suspicion might be easily excited against her at court. 

Hortense paid no attention to this warning; she considered precautionunnecessary, and was not willing to deprive herself of her onehappiness--that of seeing her friends, and of conversing with them in afree and unconstrained manner. 

The parlors of the duchess, therefore, continued to be thrown open toher faithful friends, who had also been the faithful servants of theemperor; and the Dukes of Bassano, of Friaul, of Ragusa, of the Moskwa, and their wives, as well as the gallant Charles de Labedoyère, and theacute Count Renault de Saint-Jean d'Angely, still continued to meet inthe parlors of the Duchess of St. Leu. 

The voice of hostility was raised against them with ever-increasinghostility; the reunions that took place at St. Leu were day by dayportrayed at the Tuileries in more hateful colors; and the poor duchess, who lived in sorrow and retirement in her apartments, became an objectof hatred and envy to these proud ladies of the old aristocracy, whowere unable to comprehend how this woman could be thought of while theywere near, although she had been the ornament of the imperial court, andwho was considered amiable, intellectual, and beautiful, even under thelegitimate dynasty. 

Hortense heard of the ridiculous and malicious reports which had beencirculated concerning her, and, for the sake of her friends and sons, she resolved to put an end to them. 

"I must leave my dear St. Leu and go to Paris, " said she. "There theycan better observe all my actions. Reason demands that I should conformmyself to circumstances. "

She therefore abandoned her quiet home at St. Leu, and repaired with herchildren and her court to Paris, to again take up her abode in herdwelling in the Rue de la Victoire. 

But this step gave fresh fuel to the calumnies of her enemies, who sawin her the embodied remembrance of the empire which they hated and atthe same time feared. 

The Bonapartists still continued their visits to her parlors, as before;and no appeals, no representations could induce Hortense to close herdoors against her faithful friends, for fear that their fidelity mightexcite suspicion against herself. 

In order, however, to contradict the report that adherents of Napoleononly were in the habit of frequenting her parlors, the duchess alsoextended the hospitalities of her parlors to the strangers who broughtletters of recommendation, and who desired to be introduced to her. Great numbers hastened to avail themselves of this permission. 

The most brilliant and select circle was soon assembled around theduchess. There, were to be found the great men of the empire, who cameout of attachment; distinguished strangers, who came out of admiration;and, finally, the aristocrats of the old era, who came out of curiosity, who came to see if the Duchess of St. Leu was really so intelligent, amiable, and graceful, as she was said to be. 

The parlors of the duchess were therefore more talked of in Paris thanthey had been at St. Leu. The old duchesses and princesses of theFaubourg St. Germain, with all their ancestors, prejudices, andpretensions, were enraged at hearing this everlasting praise of thecharming queen, and endeavored to appease their wrath by renewedhostilities against its object. 

It was not enough that she was calumniated, at court and in society, asa dangerous person; the arm of the press was also wielded against her. 

As we have said, Hortense was the embodied remembrance of the empire, and it was therefore determined that she should be destroyed. _Brochures_ and pamphlets were published, in which the king was appealedto, to banish from Paris, and even from France, the dangerous woman whowas conspiring publicly, and even under the very eyes of the government, for Napoleon, and to banish with her the two children also, the twoNapoleons; "for, " said these odious accusers, "to leave these twoprinces here, means to raise in France wolves that would one day ravagetheir country[42]. "

[Footnote 42: Cochelet, Mémoires sur la Reins Hortense, vol. Ii. , p. 330. ]

Hortense paid but little attention to these reports and calumnies. Shewas too much accustomed to being misunderstood and wrongly judged, toallow herself to be disquieted thereby. She knew that calumnies werenever refuted by contradiction, and that it was therefore better to meetthem with proud silence, and to conquer them by contempt, instead ofgiving them new life by combating and contradicting them. 

She herself entertained such contempt for calumny that she never allowedanything abusive to be said in her presence that would injure any one inher estimation. When, on one occasion, while she was still Queen ofHolland, a lady of Holland took occasion to speak ill of another lady, on account of her political opinions, the queen interrupted her, andsaid: "Madame, here I am a stranger to all parties, and receive allpersons with the same consideration, for I love to hear every one wellspoken of; and I generally receive an unfavorable impression of thoseonly who speak ill of others[43]. "

[Footnote 43: Cochelet, vol. I. , p. 378. ]

And, strange to say, she herself was ever the object of calumny andaccusation. 

"During twenty-five years, I have never been separated from PrincessHortense, " says Louise de Cochelet, "and I have never observed in herthe slightest feeling of bitterness against any one; ever good andgentle, she never failed to take an interest in those who were unhappy;and she endeavored to help them whenever and wherever they presentedthemselves. And this noble and gentle woman was always the object ofhatred and absurd calumnies, and against all this she was armed with theintegrity and purity of her actions and intentions only[44]. "

[Footnote 44: Cochelet, vol. I. , p. 378. ]

Nor did Hortense now think of contradicting the calumnies that had beencirculated concerning her. Her mind was occupied with other and far moreimportant matters. 

An ambassador of her husband, who resided in Florence, had come to Parisin order to demand of Hortense, in the name of Louis Bonaparte, histwo sons. 

After much discussion, he had finally declared that he would besatisfied, if his wife would send him his eldest son, NapoleonLouis, only. 

But the loving mother could not and would not consent to a separationfrom either of her children; and as, in spite of her entreaties, herhusband persisted in refusing to allow her to retain both of them, sheresolved, in the anguish of maternal love, to resort to the most extrememeans to retain the possession of her sons. 

She informed her husband's ambassador that it was her fixed purpose toretain possession of her children, and appealed to the law to recognizeand protect them, and not allow her sons to be deprived of their rightsas Frenchmen, by going into a compulsory exile. 

While the Duchess of St. Leu was being accused of conspiring in favor ofNapoleon, her whole soul was occupied with the one question, which wasto decide whether one of her sons could be torn from her side or not;and, if she conspired at all, it was only with her lawyer in order tofrustrate her husband's plans. 

But the calumnies and accusations of the press were neverthelesscontinued; and at last her friends thought it necessary to lay beforethe queen a journal that contained a violent and abusive article againsther, and to request that they might be permitted to reply to it. 

"With a sad smile, Hortense read the article and returned the newspaper. 

"It is extremely mortifying to be scorned by one's countrymen, " saidshe, "but it would be useless to make any reply. I can afford todisregard such attacks--they are powerless to harm me. "

But when on the following morning the same journal contained a venomousand odious article levelled at her husband, Louis Bonaparte, hergenerous indignation was aroused, and, oblivious of all theirdisagreements, and even of the process now pending between them, sheremembered only that it was the father of her children whom they haddared to attack, and that he was not present to defend himself. Ittherefore devolved upon her to defend him. 

"I am enraged, and I desire that M. Després shall reply to this articleat once, " said Hortense. "Although paternal love on the one side, andmaternal love on the other, has involved us in a painful process, itnevertheless concerns no one else, and it disgraces neither of us. Ishould be in despair, if this sad controversy were made the pretext forinsulting the father of my children and the honored name he bears. Forthe very reason that I stand alone, am I called on to defend the absentto the best of my ability. Therefore let M. Després come to me; I willinstruct him how to answer this disgraceful article!"

On the following day, an able and eloquent article in defence of LouisBonaparte appeared in the journal--an article that shamed and silencedhis accusers--an article which the prince, whose cause it so warmlyespoused, probably never thought of attributing to the wife to whosematernal heart be had caused such anguish[45]. 

[Footnote 45: Cochelet, vol. I. , p. 303. ]

CHAPTER IX. 

THE BURIAL OF LOUIS XVI. AND HIS WIFE. 

The earnest endeavors of the Bourbon court to find the resting-place ofthe remains of the royal couple who had died on the scaffold, and whohad expiated the crimes of their predecessors rather than their own, were at last successful. The remains of the illustrious martyrs hadbeen sought for in accordance with the directions of persons who hadwitnessed their sorrowful and contemptuous burial, and the body of LouisXVI. Was found in a desolate corner of the grave-yard of St. Roch, andin another place also that of Queen Marie Antoinette. 

It was the king's wish, and a perfectly natural and just one, to interthese bodies in the royal vault at St. Denis, but he wished to do itquietly and without pomp; his acute political tact taught him that thesesad remains should not be made the occasion of a politicaldemonstration, and that it was unwise to permit the bones of Louis XVI. To become a new apple of discord. 

But the king's court, even his nearest relatives, his ministers, and thewhole troop of arrogant courtiers, who desired, by means of anostentatious interment, not only to show a proper respect for thebeheaded royal pair, but also to punish those whom they covertly called"regicides, " and whom they were nevertheless now compelled totolerate--the king's entire court demanded a solemn and ceremoniousinterment; and Louis, who, as he himself had said, "was king, but notmaster, " was compelled to yield to this demand. 

Preparations were therefore made for an ostentatious interment of theroyal remains, and it was determined that the melancholy rites shouldtake place on the 21st of January, 1815, the anniversary of painfulmemories and unending regret for the royal family. 

M. De Chateaubriand, the noble and intelligent eulogist and friend ofthe Bourbons, caused an article to be inserted in the _Journal desDébats_, in which he announced the impending ceremony. This article wasthen republished in pamphlet form; and so great was the sympathy of theParisians in the approaching event, that thirty thousand copies weredisposed of, in Paris alone, in one day. 

On the 20th of January the graves of the martyrs were opened, and allthe princes of the royal house who were present, knelt down at the edgeof the grave to mingle their prayers with those of the thousands who hadaccompanied them to the church-yard. 

But the king was right. This act, that appeared to some to be a mere actof justice, seemed an insult to others, and reminded them of the darkdays of error and fanaticism, in which they had allowed themselves to bedrawn into the vortex of the general delirium. Many of those who in theAssembly had voted for the death of the king, were now residing atParis, and even at court, as for instance Fouché, and to them theapproaching ceremony seemed an insult. 

"Are you aware, " exclaimed Descourtis, as he rushed into the apartmentof Cambacérès, who was at that moment conversing with the Count de Pere, "have you already been informed that this ceremony is really to takeplace to-morrow?"

"Yes, to-morrow is the fated day. To-morrow we are to be delivered overto the daggers of fanatics. "

"Is this the pardon that was promised us?"

"As for that, " exclaimed the Count de Pere (a good royalist), "I wasnot aware that there was an article in the constitution forbidding thereinterment of the mortal remains of the royal pair. The proceeding willbe perfectly lawful. "

"It is their purpose to infuriate the populace, " exclaimed Descourtis, pale with inward agitation. "Old recollections are to be recalled and amute accusation hurled at us. But we shall some day be restored to poweragain, and then we will remember also!"

Cambacérès, who had listened to this conversation in silence, nowstepped forward, and, taking Descourtis's hand in his own, pressedit tenderly. 

"Ah, my friend, " said he, in sad and solemn tones, "I would we werepermitted to march behind the funeral-car in mourning-robes to-morrow!We owe this proof of repentance to France and to ourselves!"

The solemn funeral celebration took place on the following day. AllParis took part in it. Every one, even the old republicans, theBonapartists as well as the royalists, joined the funeral procession, inorder to testify that they had abandoned the past and were repentant. 

Slowly and solemnly, amid the ringing of all the bells, the roll of thedrum, the thunders of artillery, and the chants of the clergy, theprocession moved onward. 

The golden crown, which hung suspended over the funeral-car, shonelustrously in the sunlight. It had fallen from the heads of the royalpair while they still lived; it now adorned them in death. 

Slowly and solemnly the procession moved onward; it had arrived at theBoulevards which separates the two streets of Montmartre. Suddenly aterrible, thousand-voiced cry of horror burst upon the air. 

The crown, which hung suspended over the funeral-car, had fallen down, touching the coffins with a dismal sound, and then broke into fragmentson the glittering snow of the street. 

This occurred on the 21st of January; two months later, at the samehour, and on the same day, the crown of Louis XVIII. Fell from his head, and Napoleon placed it on his own!

CHAPTER X. 

NAPOLEON'S RETURN FROM ELBA. 

A cry of tremendous import reverberated through Paris, all France, andall Europe, in the first days of March, 1815. Napoleon, it was said, hadquitted Elba, and would soon arrive in France!

The royalists heard it with dismay, the Bonapartists with a delight thatthey hardly took the pains to conceal. 

Hortense alone took no part in the universal delight of theimperialists. Her soul was filled with profound sadness and darkforebodings. "I lament this step, " said she; "I would have sacrificedevery thing to prevent his return to France, because I am of the beliefthat no good can come of it. Many will declare for, and many againsthim, and we shall have a civil war, of which the emperor himself may bethe victim[46]. "

[Footnote 46: Cochelet, vol. Ii. , p. 348. ]

In the meanwhile the general excitement was continually increasing; ittook possession of every one, and at this time none would have beencapable of giving cool and sensible advice. 

Great numbers of the emperor's friends came to the Duchess of St. Leu, and demanded of her counsel, assistance, and encouragement, accusing herof indifference and want of sympathy, because she did not share theirhopes, and was sad instead of rejoicing with them. 

But the spies of the still ruling government, who lay in wait around thequeen's dwelling, did not hear her words; they only saw that theemperor's former generals and advisers were in the habit of repairing toher parlors, and that was sufficient to stamp Hortense as the head ofthe conspiracy which had for its object the return of Napoleonto France. 

The queen perceived the danger of her situation, but she bowed her headto receive the blows of Fate in silent resignation. "I am environed bytorments and perplexities, " said she, "but I see no means of avoidingthem. There is no resource for me but to arm myself with courage, andthat I will do. "

The royal government, however, still hoped to be able to stem theadvancing tide, and compel the waves of insurrection to surge backwardand destroy those who had set them in motion. 

They proposed to treat the great event which made France glow with newpulsations, as a mere insurrection, that had been discovered in goodtime, and could therefore be easily repressed. They thereforedetermined, above all, to seize and render harmless the "conspirators, "that is to say, all those of whom it was known that they had remainedfaithful to the emperor in their hearts. 

Spies surrounded the houses of all the generals, dukes, and princes ofthe empire, and it was only in disguise and by the greatest dexteritythat they could evade the vigilance of the police. 

The Duchess of St. Leu was at last also compelled to yield to the urgententreaties of her friends, and seek an asylum during these days ofuncertainty and danger. She quitted her dwelling in disguise, and, penetrating through the army of spies who lay in wait around the houseand in the street in which she resided, she happily succeeded inreaching the hiding-place prepared for her by a faithful servant of hermother. She had already confided her children to another servant who hadremained true to her in her time of trouble. 

The Duke of Otranto, now once more the faithful Fouché of the empire, was also to have been arrested, but he managed to effect his escape. General Lavalette--who was aware that the dwelling of the Duchess of St. Leu was no longer watched by the police, who had discovered that theduchess was no longer there--Lavalette took advantage of thiscircumstance, and concealed himself in her dwelling, and M. De Dandré, the chief of police, who had vainly endeavored to catch the so-calledconspirators, exclaimed in anguish: "It is impossible to find any one;it has been so much noised about that these Bonapartists were to bearrested, that they are now all hidden away. "

Like a bombshell the news suddenly burst upon the anxious and doubtingcapital: "The emperor has been received by the people in Grenoble withexultation, and the troops that were to have been led against him have, together with their chieftain, Charles de Labedoyère, gone over to theemperor. The gates of the city were thrown open, and the people advancedto meet him with shouts of welcome and applause; and now Napoleon stoodno longer at the head of a little body of troops, but at the head of asmall army that was increasing with every hour. "

The government still endeavored, through its officials and through thepublic press, to make the Parisians disbelieve this intelligence. 

But the government had lost faith in itself. It heard the old, the hatedcry, "Vive l'empereur!" resounding through the air; it heard thefluttering of the victorious battle-flags of Marengo, Arcola, Jena, andAusterlitz! The Emperor Napoleon was still the conquering hero, whoswayed destiny and compelled it to declare for him. 

A perfect frenzy of dismay took possession of the royalists; and whenthey learned that Napoleon had already arrived in Lyons, that itsinhabitants had received him with enthusiasm, and that its garrison hadalso declared for him, their panic knew no bounds. 

The royalist leaders assembled at the house of Count de la Pere, for thepurpose of holding a last great discussion and consultation. The mosteminent persons, men and women, differing widely on other subjects, buta unit on this point, assembled here with the same feelings of patriotichorror, and with the same desire to promote the general welfare. Therewere Madame de Staël, Benjamin Constant, Count Lainé, and Chateaubriand;there were the Duke de Némours, and Count de la Pere, and around themgathered the whole troop of anxious royalists, expecting and hoping thatthe eloquent lips of these celebrated personages who stood in theirmidst would give them consolation and new life. 

Benjamin Constant spoke first. He said that, to Napoleon, that is, toforce, force must be opposed. Bonaparte was armed with the love of thesoldiers, they must arm themselves with the love of the citizens. Hisappearance was imposing, like the visage of Caesar; it would benecessary to oppose to him an equally sublime countenance. Lafayetteshould, therefore, be made commander-in-chief of the French army. 

M. De Chateaubriand exclaimed, with noble indignation, that the firststep to be taken by the government was to punish severely a ministrythat was so short-sighted, and had committed so many faults. Lainédeclared, with a voice tremulous with emotion, that all was lost, andthat but one means of confounding tyranny remained; a scene, portrayingthe whole terror, dismay and grief of the capital at the approach of thehated enemy, should be arranged. In accordance with this plan, the wholepopulation of Paris--the entire National Guard, the mothers, the younggirls, the children, the old and the young--were to pass out of thecity, and await the tyrant; and this aspect of a million of men fleeingfrom the face of a single human being was to move or terrify him whocame to rob them of their peace!

In her enthusiastic and energetic manner, Madame de Staël pronounced ananathema against the usurper who was about to kindle anew, in weeping, shivering France, the flames of war. 

All were touched, enthusiastic, and agitated, but they could do nothingbut utter fine phrases; and all that fell from the eloquent lips ofthese celebrated poets and politicians was, as it were, nothing morethan a bulletin concerning the condition of the patient, and concerningthe mortal wounds which he had received. This patient was France; andthe royalists, who were assembled in the house of Count de la Pere, nowfelt that the patient's case was hopeless, and that nothing remained tothem but to go into exile, and bemoan his sad fate[47]!

[Footnote 47: Mémoires d'une Femme de Qualité, vol. I. , p. 99. ]

CHAPTER XI

LOUIS XVIII. 'S DEPARTURE AND NAPOLEON'S ARRIVAL. 

While the royalists were thus considering, hesitating, and despairing, King Louis XVIII. Had alone retained his composure and sense ofsecurity. That is to say, they had taken care not to inform him of thereal state of affairs. On the contrary, he had been informed thatBonaparte had been everywhere received with coldness and silence, andthat the army would not respond to his appeal, but would remain true tothe king. The exultation with which the people everywhere received theadvancing emperor found, therefore, no echo in the Tuileries, and thecrowd who pressed around the king when he repaired to the hall of the_Corps Législatif_ to hold an encouraging address, was not the people, but the royalists--those otherwise so haughty ladies and gentlemen ofthe old nobility, who again, as on the day of the first entrance, actedthe part to which the people were not disposed to adapt themselves, andtransformed themselves for a moment into the people, in order to show tothe king the demonstrations of his people's love. 

The king was completely deceived. M. De Blacas told the king ofcontinuous reverses to Napoleon's arms, while the emperor's advance wasin reality a continuous triumph. They had carried this deception so farthat they had informed the king that Lyons had closed its gates toNapoleon, and that Ney was advancing to meet him, vowing that he wouldbring the emperor back to Paris in an iron cage. 

The king was therefore composed, self-possessed, and resolute, whensuddenly his brother, the Count d'Artois, and the Duke of Orleans, who, according to the king's belief, occupied Lyons as a victor, arrived inParis alone, as fugitives, abandoned by their soldiers and servants, andinformed Louis that Lyons had received the emperor with open arms, andthat no resource had been left them but to betake themselves to flight. 

And a second, and still more terrible, item of intelligence followed thefirst. Ney, the king's hope, the last support of his tottering throne, Ney had not had the heart to maintain a hostile position toward his oldcompanion in arms. Ney had gone over to the emperor, and his army hadfollowed him with exultation. 

The king's eyes were now opened, he now saw the truth, and learned howgreatly he had been deceived. 

"Alas, " cried he, sadly, "Bonaparte fell because he would not listen tothe truth, and I shall fall because they would not tell me the truth!"

At this moment, and while the king was eloquently appealing to hisbrothers and relatives, and to the gentlemen of his court who surroundedhim, to tell him the whole truth, the door opened, and the MinisterBlacas, until then so complacent, so confident of victory, now steppedin pale and trembling. 

The truth, which he had so long concealed from the king, was now plainlyimpressed on his pale, terrified countenance. The king had desired tohear the truth; it stood before him in his trembling minister. 

A short interval of profound silence occurred; the eyes of all werefastened on the count, and, in the midst of the general silence, he washeard to say, in a voice choked with emotion: "Sire, all is lost; thearmy, as well as the people, betray your majesty. It will be necessaryfor your majesty to leave Paris. "

The king staggered backward for an instant, and then fastened aninquiring glance on the faces of all who were present. No one dared toreturn his gaze with a glance of hope. They all looked down sorrowfully. 

The king understood this mute reply, and a deep sigh escaped his breast. 

"The tree bears its fruit, " said he, with a bitter smile; "heretofore ithas been your purpose to make me govern for you, hereafter I shallgovern for no one. If I shall, however, return to the throne of myfathers once more, you will be made to understand that I will profit bythe experience you have given me[48]!"

[Footnote 48: The king's own words. Mémoires d'une Femme de Qualité, vol. I. P. 156. ]

A few hours later, at nightfall, supported on the arm of Count Blacas, without any suite, and preceded by a single lackey bearing a torch, theking left the once more desolate and solitary Tuileries, and fledto Holland. 

Twenty-four hours later, on the evening of the 20th of March, Napoleonentered the Tuileries, accompanied by the exulting shouts of thepeople, and the thundering "_Vive l'empereur_" of the troops. On thesame place where the white flag of the Bourbons had but yesterdayfluttered, the _tricolore_ of the empire now flung out its folds tothe breeze. 

In the Tuileries the emperor found all his old ministers, his generals, and his courtiers, assembled. All were desirous of seeing and greetinghim. An immense concourse of people surged around the entrance on thestair-ways and in the halls. 

Borne aloft on the arms and shoulders of the people, the emperor wascarried up the stairway, and into his apartments; and, while shouts ofjoy were resounding within, the thousands without joined the morefortunate ones who had borne the emperor to his apartments, and rent theair with exulting cries of "_Vive l'empereur_!"

In his cabinet, to which Napoleon immediately repaired, he was receivedby Queen Julia, wife of Joseph Bonaparte, and Queen Hortense, who hadabandoned her place of concealment, and hurried to the Tuileries tosalute the emperor. 

Napoleon greeted Hortense coldly, he inquired briefly after the healthof her sons, and then added, almost severely: "You have placed mynephews in a false position, by permitting them to remain in the midstof my enemies. "

Hortense turned pale, and her eyes filled with tears. The emperor seemednot to notice it. "You have accepted the friendship of my enemies, " saidhe, "and have placed yourself under obligations to the Bourbons. Idepend on Eugene; I hope he will soon be here. I wrote to himfrom Lyons. "

This was the reception Hortense received from the emperor. He was angrywith her for having remained in France, and at the same time the flyingBourbons, who were on their way to Holland, said of her: "The Duchess ofSt. Leu is to blame for all! Her intrigues alone have brought Napoleonback to Paris. "

CHAPTER XII. 

THE HUNDRED DAYS. 

The hundred days that followed the emperor's return are like a myth ofthe olden time, like a poem of Homer, in which heroes destroy worldswith a blow of the hand, and raise armies out of the ground with a stampof the foot; in which nations perish, and new ones are born within thespace of a minute. 

These hundred days stand in history as a giant era, and these hundreddays of the restored empire were replete with all the earth can offer offortune, of magnificence, of glory, and of victory, as well as of allthat the earth contains that is disgraceful, miserable, traitorous, andperfidious. 

Wondrous and brilliant was their commencement. All France seemed to hailthe emperor's return with exultation. Every one hastened to assure himof his unchangeable fidelity, and to persuade him that they had onlyobeyed the Bourbons under compulsion. 

The old splendor of the empire once more prevailed in the Tuileries, where the emperor now held his glittering court again. There was, however, this difference: Queen Hortense now did the honors of thecourt, in the place of the Empress Marie Louise, who had not returnedwith her husband; and the emperor could not now show the people his ownson, but could only point to his two nephews, the sons of Hortense. 

The emperor had quickly reconciled himself to the queen; he had beencompelled to yield to her gentle and yet decided explanations; he hadcomprehended that Hortense had sacrificed herself for her children, incontinuing to remain in France notwithstanding her reluctance. Afterthis reconciliation had taken place, Napoleon extended his hand toHortense, with his irresistible smile, and begged her to name a wish, inorder that he might fulfil it. 

Queen Hortense, who had been so bitterly slandered and scorned by theroyalists, and who was still considered by the fleeing Bourbons to bethe cause of their overthrow--this same queen now entreated the emperorto permit the Duchess d'Orleans, who had not been able to leave Paris onaccount of a broken limb, to remain, and to accord her a pensionbesides. She told the emperor that she had received a letter from theduchess, in which she begged for her intercession in obtaining someassistance from the emperor, assuring her that it was urgently Deeded, in her depressed circumstances. 

The emperor consented to grant this wish of his step-daughter Hortense;and it was solely at her solicitation that Napoleon accorded a pensionof four hundred thousand francs to the Duchess d'Orleans, the mother ofKing Louis Philippe[49]. 

[Footnote 49: La Reine Hortense en Italie, en France, et en Angleterre. Ecrit par elle-même, p. 185. ]

A few days later, at Hortense's request, a pension of two hundredthousand francs was also accorded to the Duchess of Bourbon, who hadalso besought the queen to exert her influence in her behalf; and bothladies now hastened to assure Hortense of their everlasting gratitude. The fulfilment of her wish filled Hortense with delight; she was asproud of it as of a victory achieved. 

"I considered it a sacred duty, " said she, "to intercede for theseladies. They were as isolated and desolate as I had been a few claysbefore, and I know how sad it is to be in such a state!"

But Hortense's present state was a very different one. She was now nolonger the Duchess of St. Leu, but the queen and the ornament of thecourt once more; all heads now bowed before her again, and the high-bornladies, who had seemed oblivious of her existence during the past year, now hastened to do homage to the queen. 

"Majesty, " said one of these ladies to the queen, "unfortunately, youwere always absent in the country when I called to pay my respectsduring the past winter. "

The queen's only response was a gentle "Indeed madame, " which sheaccompanied with a smile. 

Hortense, as has before been said, was now again the grand point ofattraction at court, and, at Napoleon's command, the public officialsnow also hastened to solicit the honor of an audience, in order to paytheir respects to the emperor's step-daughter. Each day beheld new_fêtes_ and ceremonies. 

The most sublime and imposing of all these was the ceremony of the_Champ de Mai_, that took place on the first of June, and at which theemperor, in the presence of the applauding populace, presented to hisarmy the new eagles and flags, which they were henceforth to carry intobattle instead of the lilies of the Bourbons. 

It was a wondrous, an enchanting spectacle to behold the sea of humanbeings that surged to and fro on this immense space, and made the welkinring with their "_Vive l'empereur_!"--to behold the proud, triumphantsoldiers receiving from Napoleon the eagles consecrated by the priestsat the altar that stood before the emperor. It was a wondrous spectacleto behold the hundreds of richly-attired ladies glittering withdiamonds, who occupied the tiers of seats that stood immediately behindthe emperor's chair, and on which Hortense and her two sons occupied thefirst seats. 

The air was so balmy, the sun shone so lustriously over all thissplendor and magnificence, the cannon thundered so mightily, and thestrains of music resounded so sweetly on the ear; and, while all wereapplauding and rejoicing, Hortense sat behind the emperor's chaircovertly sketching the imposing scene that lay before her, the grandceremony, which, a dark foreboding told her, "might perhaps be the lastof the empire[50]. "

[Footnote 50: Cochelet, vol. Iii. , p. 97. ]

Hortense alone did not allow herself to be deceived by this universaldelight and contentment. 

The heavens still seemed bright and serene overhead, but she alreadyperceived the gathering clouds, she already heard the mutterings of thestorm that was soon, and this time forever, to hurl the emperor's throneto the ground. She knew that a day would suddenly come when all thisbrightness would grow dim, and when all those who now bowed so humblybefore him, would turn from him again--a day when they would deny anddesert the emperor as they had already done once before, and that, fromthat day on, the present period of grandeur would be accounted to her asa debt. But this knowledge caused her neither anxiety nor embarrassment. 

The emperor was once more there; he was the lord and father left her byher mother Josephine, and it was her duty and desire to be true andobedient to him as long as she lived. 

The sun still shone lustrously over the restored empire, and in theparlors of Queen Hortense, where the diplomats, statesmen, artists, andall the notables of the empire were in the habit of assembling, gayetyreigned supreme. There music and literature were discussed, and homagedone to all the fine arts. 

Benjamin Constant, who had with great rapidity transformed himself froman enthusiastic royalist into an imperial state-councillor, came to thequeen's parlors and regaled her guests by reading to them his romanceAdolphe; and Metternich, the Austrian ambassador seemed to have no otherdestiny than to amuse the queen and the circle of ladies assembledaround them, and to invent new social games for their entertainment. 

Metternich knew how to bring thousands of charming little frivolitiesinto fashion; he taught the ladies the charming and poetic language offlowers, and made it a symbolic means of conversation and correspondencein the queen's circle. He also, to the great delight of the court, invented the alphabet of gems; in this alphabet each gem represented itsinitial letter, and, by combinations, names and devices were formed, which were worn in necklaces, bracelets, and rings. 

The little games with which the diplomatic Metternich occupied himselfduring the hundred days at the imperial court at Paris, were, itappears, of the most innocent and harmless nature. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

NAPOLEON'S LAST ADIEU. 

The storm, of the approach of which Queen Hortense had so long had aforeboding, was preparing to burst over France. All the princes ofEurope who had once been Napoleon's allies had now declared against him. They all refused to acknowledge Napoleon as emperor, or to treat withhim as one having any authority. 

"No peace, no reconciliation with this man, " wrote the Emperor Alexanderto Pozzo di Borgo; "all Europe is of the same opinion concerning him. With the exception of this man, any thing they may demand; no preferencefor any one; no war after this man shall have been set aside[51]. "

[Footnote 51: Cochelet, vol. Iii. , p. 90. ]

But, in order to "set this man aside, " war was necessary. The alliedarmies therefore advanced toward the boundaries of France; the greatpowers declared war against France, or rather against the EmperorNapoleon; and France, which had so long desired peace, and had onlyaccepted the Bourbons because it hoped to obtain it of them, France wasnow compelled to take up the gauntlet. 

On the 12th of June the emperor left Paris with his army, in order tomeet the advancing enemy. Napoleon himself, who had hitherto gone intobattle, his countenance beaming with an assurance of victory, now lookedgloomy and dejected, for he well knew that on the fate of his army nowdepended his own, and the fate of France. 

This time it was not a question of making conquests, but of saving thenational independence, and it was the mother-earth, red with the bloodof her children, that was now to be defended. 

Paris, that for eighty days had been the scene of splendor andfestivity, now put on its mourning attire. All rejoicings were at anend, and every one listened hopefully to catch the first tones of thethunder of a victorious battle. 

But the days of victory were over; the cannon thundered, the battle wasfought, but instead of a triumph it was an overthrow. 

At Waterloo, the eagles that had been consecrated on the first of June, on the _Champ de Mai_, sank in the dust; the emperor returned to Paris, a fugitive, and broken down in spirit, while the victorious allies wereapproaching the capital. 

At the first intelligence of his return, Hortense hastened to theElysée, where he had taken up his residence, to greet him. During thelast few days she had been a prey to gloomy thoughts; now that thedanger had come, now when all were despairing, she was composed, resolute, and ready to stand at the emperor's side to the last. 

Napoleon was lost, and Hortense knew it; but he now had most need offriends, and she remained true, while so many of his nearest friends andrelatives were deserting him. 

On the twenty-second day of June the emperor sent in his abdication infavor of his son, the King of Rome, to the chambers; and a week laterthe chambers proclaimed Napoleon's son Emperor of France, under the nameof Napoleon II. 

But this emperor was a child of four years, and was, moreover, not inFrance, but in the custody of the Emperor of Austria, whose army was nowmarching on Paris with hostile intent!

Napoleon, now no longer Emperor of France, had been compelled to takethe crown from his head a second time; and for the second time hequitted Paris to await the destiny to be appointed him by the allies. 

This time he did not repair to Fontainebleau, but to Malmaison--toMalmaison, that had once been Josephine's paradise, and where her hearthad at last bled to death. This charming resort had passed into thepossession of Queen Hortense; and Napoleon, who but yesterday had ruledover a whole empire, and to-day could call nothing, not even the spaceof ground on which he stood, his own, Napoleon asked Hortense to receivehim at Malmaison. 

Hortense accorded his request joyfully, and, when her friends learnedthis, and in their dismay and anxiety conjured her not to identify inthis manner herself and children with the fate of the emperor, but toconsider well the danger that would result from such a course, the queenreplied resolutely: "That is an additional reason for holding firm to mydetermination. I consider it my sacred duty to remain true to theemperor to the last, and the greater the danger that threatens theemperor, the happier I shall be in having it in my power to show him myentire devotion and gratitude. "

And when, in this decision, when her whole future hung in the balance, one of her most intimate lady-friends ventured to remind the queen ofthe disgraceful and malicious reports that had once been put incirculation with regard to her relation to Napoleon, and suggested thatshe would give new strength to them by now receiving the emperor atMalmaison, Hortense replied with dignity: "What do I care for thesecalumnies? I fulfil the duty imposed on me by feeling and principle. Theemperor has always treated me as his child; I shall therefore everremain his devoted and grateful daughter; it is my first and greatestnecessity to be at peace with myself[52]. "

[Footnote 52: Cochelet, vol. Iii. , p. 149. ]

Hortense therefore repaired with the emperor to Malmaison, and thefaithful, who were not willing to leave him in his misfortune, gatheredaround him, watched over his life, and gave to his residence a fleetingreflection of the old grandeur and magnificence. For they who now stoodaround Napoleon, guarding his person from any immediate danger thatthreatened him at the hands of fanatic enemies or hired assassins, weremarshals, generals, dukes, and princes. 

But Napoleon's fate was already decided--it was an inevitable one, andwhen the intelligence reached Malmaison that the enemy was approachingnearer and nearer, and that resistance was no longer made anywhere, andwhen Napoleon saw that all was lost, his throne, his crown, and even thelove which he imagined he had for ever built up for himself in thehearts of the French people by his great deeds and victories--when hesaw this he determined to fly, no matter whither, but away from theFrance that would no longer rally to his call, the France that hadabandoned him. 

The emperor resolved to fly to Rochefort, and to embark there in orderto return to Elba. The provisional government that had establisheditself in Paris, and had sent an ambassador to Napoleon at Malmaisonwith the demand that he should depart at once, now instructed thisambassador to accompany the emperor on his journey, and not to leave himuntil he should have embarked. 

Napoleon was ready to comply with this demand. He determined to departon the afternoon of the 30th of June. He had nothing more to do but totake leave of his friends and family. He did this with cold, tearlesscomposure, with an immovable, iron countenance; no muscle of his facequivered, and his glance was severe and imperious. 

But, when Hortense brought in her two sons, when he had clasped them inhis arms for the last time, then a shadow passed over his countenance;then his pale compressed lips quivered, and he turned away to concealthe tears that stood in his eyes. 

But Hortense had seen them, and in her heart she preserved theremembrance of these tears as the most precious gem of her departedfortune. As the emperor then turned to her to bid her adieu in hisformer cold and immovable manner, Hortense, who well knew that a volcanoof torments must be glowing under this cold lava, entreated him to granther a last favor. 

A painful smile illumined the emperor's countenance for a moment. Therewas, it seemed, still something that he could grant; he was notaltogether powerless! With a mute inclination of the head he signifiedhis assent. Hortense handed him a broad black belt. 

"Sire, " said she, "wear this belt around your body and beneath yourclothing. Conceal it carefully, but in the time of necessity remember itand open it. "

The emperor took the belt in his hand, and its weight startled him. 

"What does it contain?" asked he: "I must know what it contains!"

"Sire, " said Hortense, blushing and hesitating: "Sire, it is my largediamond necklace that I have taken apart and sewed in this belt. Yourmajesty may need money in a critical moment, and you will not deny methis last happiness, your acceptance of this token. "

The emperor refused, but Hortense entreated him so earnestly that he wasat last compelled to yield, and accept this love-offering. 

They then took a hasty and mute leave of each other, and Hortense, inorder to hide her tears, hastened with her children from the room. 

The emperor summoned a servant, and ordered that no one else should beadmitted; but at this moment the door was hastily thrown open, and anational guard entered the room. 

"Talma!" exclaimed the emperor, almost gayly, as he extended his hand. 

"Yes, Talma, sire, " said he, pressing the emperor's hand to his lips. "I disguised myself in this dress, in order that I might get here totake leave of your majesty. "

"To take leave, never to see each other more, " said the emperor, sadly. "I shall never be able to admire you in your great _rôles_ again, Talma. I am about to depart, never to return again. You will play the emperoron many an evening, but not I, Talma! My part is at an end!"

"No, sire, you will always remain the emperor!" exclaimed Talma, withgenerous enthusiasm; "the emperor, although without the crown and thepurple robe. "

"And also the emperor without a people, " said Napoleon. 

"Sire, you have a people that will ever remain yours, and a throne thatis imperishable! It is the throne that you have erected for yourself onthe battle-fields, that will be recorded in the books of history. Andevery one, no matter to what nation he may belong, who reads of yourgreat deeds, will be inspired by them, and will acknowledge himself tobe one of your people, and bow down before the emperor in reverence. "

"I have no people, " murmured Napoleon, gloomily; "they have alldeserted--all betrayed me, Talma!"

"Sire, they will some day regret, as Alexander of Russia will also oneday regret, having deserted the great man he once called brother!" And, in his delicate and generous endeavor to remind Napoleon of one of hismoments of grandeur, Talma continued: "Your majesty perhaps remembersthat evening at Tilsit, when the Emperor of Russia made you so tender adeclaration of his love, publicly and before the whole world? But no, you cannot remember it; for you it was a matter of no moment; but I--Ishall never forget it! It was at the theatre; we were playing 'Oedipus. 'I looked up at the box in which your majesty sat, between the King ofPrussia and the Emperor Alexander. I could see you only--the secondAlexander of Macedon, the second Julius Caesar--and I held my arms aloftand saw you only when I repeated the words of my part: 'The friendshipof a great man is a gift of the gods!' And as I said this, the EmperorAlexander arose and pressed you to his heart. I saw this, and tearschoked my utterance. The audience applauded rapturously; this applausewas, however, not for me, but for the Emperor Alexander[53]!"

[Footnote 53: This scene is entirely historical. See Bossuet, Mémoires;Bourrienne, Mémoires; Cochelet and Une Femme de Qualité. ]

While Talma was speaking, his cheeks glowing and his eyes flashing, arosy hue suffused the emperor's countenance, and, for an instant, hesmiled. Talma had attained his object; he had raised up the humiliatedemperor with the recital of his own grandeur. 

Napoleon thanked him with a kindly glance, and extended his hand to bidhim adieu. 

As Talma approached the emperor, a carriage was heard driving up infront of the house. It was Letitia, the emperor's mother, who had cometo take leave of her son. Talma stood still, in breathless suspense; inhis heart he thanked Providence for permitting him to witness thisleave-taking. 

"Madame mère" walked past Talma in silence, and without observing him. She saw only her son, who stood in the middle of the room, his sombreand flashing glance fastened on her with an unutterable expression. Nowthey stood face to face, mother and son. The emperor's countenanceremained immovable as though hewn out of marble. 

They stood face to face in silence, but two great tears slowly trickleddown the mother's cheeks. Talma stood in the background, weepingbitterly. Napoleon remained unmoved. Letitia now raised both hands andextended them to the emperor. "Adieu, my son!" said she, in full andsonorous tones. 

Napoleon pressed her hands in his own, and gazed at her long andfixedly; and then, with the same firmness, he said: "My mother, adieu!"

Once more they gazed at each other; then the emperor let her hand fall. Letitia turned to go, and at this moment General Bertrand appeared atthe door to announce that all was prepared for the journey[54]. 

[Footnote 54: This leave-taking was exactly as above described, andTalma himself narrated it to Louise de Cochelet. See her Mémoires, vol. Iii, P. 173. ]

BOOK IV. 

_THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU_. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE BANISHMENT OF THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU. 

For the second time, the Bourbons had entered Paris under the protectionof the allies, and Louis XVIII. Was once more King of France. But thistime he did not return with his former mild and conciliatorydisposition. He came to punish and to reward; he came unaccompanied bymercy. The old generals and marshals of the empire, who had not beenable to resist their chieftain's call, were now banished, degraded, orexecuted. Ney and Labédoyère paid for their fidelity to the emperor withtheir blood; and all who were in any way connected with the Bonaparteswere relentlessly pursued. The calumnies that had been circulated in1814 against the Duchess of St. Leu were now to bear bitter fruit. Thesewere the dragon's teeth from which the armed warriors had sprung, whonow levelled their swords at the breast of a defenceless woman. 

King Louis had returned to the throne of his fathers, but he had notforgotten that he had been told on his flight: "The Duchess of St. Leuis to blame for all! Her intrigues have brought Napoleon back!" Now thathe was again king, he thought of it, and determined to punish her. Herequested it of Alexander, as a favor, that he should this time not callon the Duchess of St. Leu. 

The emperor, dismayed by the odious reports in circulation concerningHortense, and already enchained in the mystic glittering web with whichMadame de Krüdener had enveloped him, and separated from the reality ofthe world, acceded to the wishes of the Bourbons, and abandoned thequeen. This was the signal that let loose the general wrath of theroyalists; they could now freely utter their scorn and malice. By lowcalumnies they could now compensate themselves for their humiliation ofthe past, for having been compelled to approach the daughter ofViscountess de Beauharnais with the reverence due to a queen. 

They could pursue the step-daughter of the emperor with boundless fury, for this very fury proved their royalism, and to hate and calumniateBonaparte and his family was to love and flatter the Bourbons. 

Day by day these royalists hurled new accusations against the duchess, whose presence in Paris unpleasantly recalled the days of the empire, and whom they desired to remove from their sight, as well as the columnon the _Place Vendôme_. 

While the poor queen was living in the retirement of her apartments, insadness and desolation, the report was circulated that she was againconspiring, and that she was in the habit of leaving her house everyevening at twilight, in order to incite the populace to rise and demandthe emperor's return, or at least the instalment of the little King ofRome on the throne instead of Louis de Bourbon. 

When the queen's faithful companion, Louise de Cochelet, informed her ofthese calumnies, Hortense remained cold and indifferent. 

"Madame, " exclaimed Louise, "you listen with as much composure as if Iwere reciting a story of the last century!"

"And it interests me as little, " said Hortense, earnestly; "we have lostall, and I consider any blow that may still strike us, with thecomposure of an indifferent spectator. I consider it natural that theyshould endeavor to caluminate me, because I bear a name that has madethe whole world tremble, and that will still be great, though we all betrodden in the dust. But I will shield myself and children from thishatred. We will leave France and go to Switzerland, where I possess alittle estate on the Lake of Geneva. "

But time was not allowed the duchess to prepare for her departure. Thedogs of calumny and hatred were let loose upon her to drive her from thecity. A defenceless woman with two young children seemed to be an objectof anxiety and terror to the government, and it made haste to get ridof her. 

On the morning of the 17th of July, an adjutant of the Prussian Generalde Müffling, the allied commandant of Paris, came to the dwelling of theDuchess of St. Leu, and informed her intendant, M. Deveaux, that theduchess must leave Paris within two hours, and it was only at the urgentsolicitation of the intendant, that a further sojourn of four hours wasallowed her. 

Hortense was compelled to conform to this military command, and departwithout arranging her affairs or making any preparations for herjourney. Her only possession consisted of jewelry, and this she ofcourse intended to take with her. But she was warned that a troop ofenraged Bourbonists, who knew of her approaching departure, had quittedParis to lie in wait for her on her road, "in order to rob her of themillions in her custody. "

The queen was warned to take no money or articles of value with her, butonly that which was absolutely necessary. 

General de Müffling offered her an escort of his soldiers; Hortensedeclined this offer, but requested that an Austrian officer might beallowed to accompany her for the protection of herself and children onthe journey. Count de Boyna, adjutant of Prince Schwartzenberg, wasselected for this purpose. 

On the evening of the 17th of July, 1815, the Duchess of St. Leu tookher departure. She left her faithful friend Louise de Cochelet in Paristo arrange her affairs, and assure the safe-keeping of her jewelry. Accompanied only by her equerry, M. De Marmold, Count Boyna, herchildren, her maid, and a man-servant, she who had been a queen leftParis to go into exile. 

It was a sorrowful journey that Hortense now made through her belovedFrance, that she could no longer call her country, and that now seemedas ill-disposed toward the emperor and his family as it had oncepassionately loved them. 

In these days of political persecution, the Bonapartists had everywherehidden themselves in obscure places, or concealed their real dispositionbeneath the mask of Bourbonism. Those whom Hortense met on her journeywere therefore all royalists, who thought they could give no bettertestimony to their patriotism than by persecuting with cries of scorn, with gestures of hatred, and with loud curses, the woman whose onlycrime was that she bore the name of him whom France had once adored, andwhom the royalists hated. 

Count Boyna was more than once compelled to protect Hortense and herchildren against the furious attacks of royalists--the stranger againsther own countrymen! In Dijon, Count Boyna had found it necessary to callon the Austrian military stationed there for assistance in protectingthe duchess and her children from the attacks of an infuriated crowd, led by royal guards and beautiful ladies of rank, whose hair was adornedwith the lilies of the Bourbons[55]. 

[Footnote 55: Cochelet, vol. Iii, p. 289. ]

Dispirited and broken down by all she had seen and experienced, Hortense at last reached Geneva, happy at the prospect of being able toretire to her little estate of Pregny, to repose after the storms oflife. But this refuge was also to be refused her. The French ambassadorin Switzerland, who resided in Geneva, informed the authorities of thatcity that his government would not tolerate the queen's sojourn so nearthe French boundary, and demanded that she should depart. Theauthorities of Geneva complied with this demand, and ordered the Duchessof St. Leu to leave the city immediately. 

When Count Boyna imparted this intelligence to the duchess, and askedher to what place she would now go, her long-repressed despair foundutterance in a single cry: "I know not. Throw me into the lake, then weshall all be at rest!"

But she soon recovered her usual proud resignation, and quietlysubmitted to the new banishment that drove her from her last possession, the charming little Pregny, from her "_rêve de chalet_. "

In Aix she finally found repose and peace for a few weeks--in Aix, whereshe had once celebrated brilliant triumphs as a queen, and where she wasat least permitted to live in retirement with her children and a fewfaithful adherents. 

But in Aix the most fearful blow that Fate had in store for her fellupon her!

Her action against her husband had already been decided in 1814, shortlybefore the emperor's return, and it had been adjudged that she shoulddeliver her elder son Napoleon Louis, into the custody of his father. Now that Napoleon's will no longer restrained him, Louis demanded thatthis judgment be carried out, and sent Baron von Zuyten to Aix to bringback the prince to his father then residing in Florence. 

The unhappy mother was now powerless to resist this hard command; shewas compelled to yield, and send her son from her arms to a father whowas a stranger to the boy, and whom he therefore could not love. 

It was a heart-rending scene this parting between the boy, his mother, and his young brother Louis, from whom he had never before beenseparated for a day, and who now threw his arms around his neck, tearfully entreating him to stay with him. 

But the separation was inevitable. Hortense parted the two weepingchildren, taking little Louis Napoleon in her arms, while Napoleon Louisfollowed his governor to the carriage, sobbing as though his heart wouldbreak. When Hortense heard the carriage driving off, she uttered a cryof anguish and fell to the ground in a swoon, and a long and painfulattack of illness was the consequence of this sorrowful separation. 

CHAPTER II. 

LOUIS NAPOLEON AS A CHILD. 

The Duchess of St. Leu was, however, not destined to find repose in Aix;the Bourbons--not yet weary of persecuting her, and still fearing thename whose first and greatest representative was now languishing on asolitary, inhospitable rock-island--the Bourbons considered it dangerousthat Hortense, the emperor's step-daughter, and her son, whose name ofLouis Napoleon seemed to them a living monument of the past, should bepermitted to sojourn so near the French boundary. They thereforeinstructed their ambassador to the government of Savoy to protestagainst the further sojourn of the queen in Aix, and Hortense wascompelled to undertake a new pilgrimage, and to start out into the worldagain in search of a home. 

She first turned to Baden, whose duchess, Stephanie, was so nearlyrelated to her, and from whose husband she might therefore well expect akindly reception. But the grand-duke did not justify his cousin's hopes;he had not the courage to defy the jealous fears of France, and it wasonly at the earnest solicitation of his wife that he at last consentedthat Hortense should take up her residence at the extreme end of thegrand-duchy, at Constance, on the Lake of Constance; and this permissionwas only accorded her on the express condition that neither the duchessnor her son should ever come to Carlsruhe, and that his wife, Stephanie, should never visit her cousin at Constance. 

Hortense accepted this offer with its conditions, contented to find aplace where she could rest after her long wanderings, and let thebleeding wounds of her heart heal in the stillness and peace ofbeautiful natural scenery. She passed a few quiet, happy years inConstance desiring and demanding nothing but a little rest and peace, aspiring to but one thing--to make of the son whom Providence had givenher as a compensation for all her sufferings, a strong, a resolute, andan intelligent man. 

Her most tender care and closest attention were devoted to the educationof this son. An excellent teacher, Prof. Lebas, of Paris, officiated asinstructor to the young prince. She herself gave him instruction indrawing, in music, and in dancing; she read with him, sang with him, andmade herself a child, in order to replace to her lonely boy the playmateFate had torn from his side. 

While reposing on her _chaise-longue_ on the long quiet evenings, herboy seated on a cushion at her feet, she would speak to him of his greatuncle, and of his heroic deeds, and of his country, of France that haddiscarded them, to be able to return to which was, however, her mostardent wish, and would continue to be while life lasted. She would theninspire the boy's soul with the description of the great battles whichhis uncle had won in Italy, on the Nile, on the Rhine, and on theDanube; and the quiet, pale boy, with the dark, thoughtful eyes, wouldlisten in breathless suspense, his weak, slender body quivering withemotion when his mother told him how dearly his uncle had loved France, and that all his great and glorious deeds had been done for the honorand renown of France alone. 

One day, while he was sitting before her, pale and trembling withagitation, his mother pointed to David's splendid painting, representingNapoleon on the heights of the Alps, the genial conception of whichpainting is due to Napoleon's own suggestions. 

"Paint me tranquilly seated on a wild horse, " Napoleon had said toDavid, and David had so painted him--on a rearing steed, on the summitof a rock which bears the inscription "Hannibal" and "Caesar. " Theemperor's countenance is calm, his large eyes full of a mysteriousbrilliancy, his hair fluttering in the wind, the whole expressionthoughtful and earnest; the rider heedless of the rearing steed, whichhe holds firmly in check with the reins. 

A beautiful copy of this great painting hung in the parlor of theduchess; and to this she now pointed while narrating the history of theemperor's passage over the Great St. Bernard with an army, a feat neverbefore performed except by Hannibal and Caesar, and perhaps never to beperformed again. 

As she concluded her narrative, an almost angry expression flittedacross the young prince's countenance. Rising from his seat, and holdinghimself perfectly erect, he exclaimed: "Oh, mamma, I shall also crossthe Alps some day, as the emperor did!"

And while thus speaking, a glowing color suffused his face; his lipstrembled, and the feverish beating of his heart was quite audible. 

Hortense turned in some anxiety to her friend Louise de Cochelet, andbegged her in a low voice to soothe the child with the recital of somemerry narrative. As Louise looked around the room thoughtfully andsearchingly, a cup that stood on the mantel-piece arrested her gaze. Shehastened to the mantel, took the cup, and returned with it to littleLouis Napoleon. 

"Mamma has been explaining a very grave picture to you, Louis, " saidshe; "I will now show you a merry one. Look at it--isn't it charming?"

The prince cast a hasty, absent-minded look at the cup, and noddedgravely. Louise laughed gayly. 

"You see, Louis, " said she, "that this is the exact counterpart of thepicture of the Emperor Napoleon, who, while riding over the Alps, encounters on their summit the great spirits of Hannibal and Caesar. Here is a little Napoleon, who is not climbing up the Alps, but climbingdown from his bed, and who, on this occasion, meets a black spirit, inthe person of a chimney-sweep. This is the history of the great and ofthe little Napoleon; the great meets Hannibal, the little thechimney-sweep. "

"Am I the little Napoleon?" asked the boy, gravely. 

"Yes, Louis, you are, and I will now tell you the story of this cup. One day, when we were all still in Paris, and while your great uncle wasstill Emperor of France--one day, you met in your room a little Savoyardwho had just crept out of the chimney in his black dress, his blackbroom in his hand. You cried out with horror, and were about to runaway, but I held you back and told you that these chimney-sweeps werepoor boys, and that their parents were so poor that they could notsupport their children, but were compelled to send them to Paris to earntheir bread by creeping into and cleaning our hot and dirty chimneys, with great trouble, and at the risk of their lives. My story touchedyou, and you promised me never to be afraid of the little chimney-sweepsagain. A short time afterward, you were awakened early in the morning bya strange noise, your brother still lay asleep at your side, and yournurse was absent from the room. This noise was made by a chimney-sweepwho had just come down the chimney and now stood in your room. As soonas you saw him, you remembered his poverty, jumped out of bed in yournight-clothes, and ran to the chair on which your clothes lay. You tookout of your pocket the purse you were compelled to carry with you onyour walks to give money to the poor, and you emptied its entirecontents into the black, sooty hand of the young Savoyard. You thentried to get back to bed, but it was too high for you; you could notclimb over the railing. Seeing this, the chimney-sweep came to yourassistance, and took the little prince in his arms to help him into bed. At this moment, your nurse entered the room, and your brother who hadjust awakened, cried loudly when he saw Louis in the arms of achimney-sweep. 

"This is the story of little Napoleon and the chimney-sweep! Yourgrandmother, the Empress Josephine was so much pleased with this story, that your mother had the scene painted on a cup, and presented it to theempress, in order to afford her a gratification. And what do you think, Louis--this cup was also the cause of a punishment being remitted yourcousin, the King of Rome, who now lives in Vienna!"

"Tell me all about it, Louise, " said the prince, smiling. 

"You shall hear it! Your mother had instructed me to take the cup toMalmaison to the empress. But before going, I endeavored to obtain somenews about the little King of Rome for the empress. Your goodgrandmother loved him as though he had been her own child, although shehad never seen him. I therefore went to the Tuileries to see the littleKing of Rome, with whose governess, Madame de Montesquieu, I wasintimately acquainted. On entering the apartment, I saw the kingcowering behind a chair in a corner of the room; Madame de Montesquieuintimated by a look that he was undergoing a punishment; I understoodit, and first conversed with his governess for a short time. When I thenturned and approached him, he concealed the tearful, flushed face, thathis long blond curls covered as with a golden veil, whenever he movedbehind the chair. 

"'Sire, ' said Madame de Montesquieu to him, 'sire, do you not intend tobid Mademoiselle de Cochelet good-morning? She came here expresslyto see you. '

"'Your majesty does not recognize me, ' said I, attempting to take hissmall hand in mine. He tore it from me, and cried in a voice almostchoked with sobbing: 'She will not let me look at the soldiers ofmy papa!'

"Madame de Montesquieu told me that it was the little prince's greatestpleasure to see the Guards exercising on the _Place de Carrousel_, butthat she had deprived Mm of this pleasure to-day, because he had beennaughty and disobedient; that, when he heard the music and drums, hisdespair and anger had become so great that she had been forced to resortto severe means, and make him stand in the corner behind a chair. Ibegged for the young king's pardon; I showed him the cup, and explainedthe scene that was painted on it. The king laughed, and Madame deMontesquieu pardoned him for the sake of his little cousin, LouisNapoleon, who was so well behaved, and who was always held up to him asa model[56]. Now you have heard the whole story, are you pleased withit, Louis?"

[Footnote 56: Cochelet, vol. I. , p. 212. ]

"I like it very much, " said the grave boy, "but I do not like mycousin's governess, for having intended to prevent him from looking athis father's soldiers. Oh, how handsome they must have been, thesoldiers of the emperor! Mamma, I wish I were also an emperor, and hadever so many handsome soldiers. "

Hortense smiled sadly, and laid her hand on the boy's head as if tobless him. "Oh, my son, " said she, "it is no enviable fortune to wear acrown. It is almost always fastened on our head with thorns!"

From this day on, Prince Louis Napoleon would stand before his uncle'sportrait, lost in thought, and after looking at it to his satisfaction, he would run out and call the boys of the neighborhood together, inorder to play soldier and emperor with them in the large garden thatsurrounded his mother's house, and teach the boys the first exercise. 

One day, in the zeal of play, he had entirely forgotten his mother'scommand, not to go out of the garden, and had inarched into the openfield with his soldiers. When his absence from the garden was noticed, all the servants were sent out to look for him, and the anxious duchess, together with her ladies, assisted in this search, walking about inevery direction through the cold and the slush of the thawing snow. Suddenly they came upon the boy barefooted and in his shirt-sleeves, wading toward them through the mud and snow. He was alarmed and confusedat this unexpected meeting, and confessed that a moment before, while hehad been playing in front of the garden, a family had passed by so poorand ragged that it was painful to look at them. As he had no money togive them, he had put his shoes on one child, and his coat onanother[57]. 

[Footnote 57: Cochelet, vol. Iv. , p. 303. ]

The duchess did not have the courage to scold him; she stooped down andkissed her son; but when her ladies commenced to praise him, shemotioned to them to be silent, and said in a loud voice that what herson had done was quite a matter of course, and therefore deservedno praise. 

An ardent desire to gladden others and make them presents wascharacteristic of little Louis Napoleon. One day, Hortense had given himthree beautiful studs for his shirt, and on the same day the princetransferred them to one of his friends who admired them. 

When Hortense reproached her son for doing so, and threatened to makehim no more presents, as he always gave them away again directly, LouisNapoleon replied, "Ah, mamma, this is why your presents give me doublepleasure--once when you give them to me, and the second time when I makeothers happy with them[58]. "

[Footnote 58: Cochelet, vol. I, p. 355. ]

CHAPTER III. 

THE REVOLUTION OF 1830. 

Fate seemed at last weary of persecuting the poor Duchess of St. Leu. Itat least accorded her a few peaceful years of repose and comfort; it atleast permitted her to rest from the weariness of the past on the bosomof Nature, and to forget her disappointments and sorrows. The Canton ofThurgau had had the courage to extend permission to the duchess to takeup her residence within its borders, at the very moment when theGrand-duke of Baden, who had been urged to the step by Germany andFrance, had peremptorily ordered Hortense to leave Constance and hisgrand-duchy without delay. 

Hortense had thankfully accepted the offer of the Swiss canton, and hadpurchased, on the Swiss side of the Lake of Constance, an estate, whosebeautiful situation on the summit of a mountain, immediately on thebanks of the lake, with its magnificent view of the surrounding country, and its glittering glaciers on the distant horizon, made it a mostdelightful place of sojourn. Hortense now caused the furniture of herdwelling in Paris, that had been sold, to be sent to her. The sight ofthese evidences of her former grandeur awakened sweet and bitteremotions in her heart, as they were one after another taken out of thecases in which they had been packed--these sofas, chairs, divans, carpets, chandeliers, mirrors, and all the other ornaments of theparlors in which Hortense had been accustomed to receive kings andemperors, and which were now to adorn the Swiss villa that was outwardlyso beautiful because of the vicinity, and inwardly so plain and simple. 

But Hortense knew how to make an elegant and tasteful disposition of allthese articles; she herself arranged every thing in her house, and tooktrue feminine delight in her task. And when all was at lastarranged--when she walked, with her son at her side, through the suiteof rooms, in which every ornament and piece of furniture reminded herof the past--when these things recalled the proud days of state when somany friends, relatives, and servants, had surrounded her--a feeling ofunutterable loneliness, of painful desolation, came over her, and shesank down on a sofa and wept bitterly. But there was nevertheless aconsolation in having these familiar articles in her possession oncemore; these mute friends often awakened in the solitary queen's heartmemories that served to entertain and console her. Arenenberg was aperfect temple of memory; every chair, every table, every article offurniture, had its history, and this history spoke of Napoleon, ofJosephine, and the great days of the empire. 

In Arenenberg Hortense had at last found a permanent home, and there shepassed the greater part of the year; and it was only when the autumnalstorms began to howl through her open and lightly-constructed villa, that Hortense repaired to Rome, to pass the winter months in a moregenial climate, while her son Louis Napoleon was pursuing his studies atthe artillery school at Thun. 

And thus the years passed on, quiet and peaceful, though sometimesinterrupted by new losses and sorrows. In the year 1821 the hero, theemperor, to whose laurel-crown the halo of a martyr had now also beenadded, died on the island-rock, St. Helena. 

In the year 1824 Hortense lost her only brother, Eugene, the Duke ofLeuchtenberg. 

The only objects of Hortense's love were now her two sons, who wereprospering in mind and body, and were the pride and joy of their mother, and an object of annoyance and suspicion to all the princes of Europe. For these children bore in their countenance, in their name, and intheir disposition, too plain an impress of the great past, which theycould never entirely ignore while Bonaparte still lived to testifyto it. 

And they lived and prospered in spite of the Bourbons; they lived andprospered, although banished from their country, and compelled to leadan inactive life. 

But at last it seemed as though the hour of fortune and freedom had comefor these Bonapartes--as though they, too, were to be permitted to havea country to which they might give their devotion and services. 

The thundering voice of the revolution of 1830 resounded throughouttrembling Europe. France, on whom the allies had imposed the Bourbons, arose and shook its mane; with its lion's paw it overthrew the Bourbonthrone, drove out the Jesuits who had stood behind it, and whom CharlesX. Had advised to tear the charter to pieces, to destroy the freedom ofthe press, and to reintroduce the _autos da fé_ of the olden time. 

France had been treated as a child in 1815, and was now determined toassert its manhood; it resolved to break entirely with the past, andwith its own strength to build up a future for itself. 

The lilies of the Bourbons were to bloom no more; these last years offanatical Jesuit tyranny had deprived them of life, and France tore thefaded lily from her bosom in order to replace it with a young andvigorous plant. The throne of the Bourbons was overthrown, but thepeople, shuddering at the recollection of the sanguinary republic, selected a king in preference. It stretched out its hand after him itheld dearest; after him who in the past few years had succeeded inwinning the sympathy of France. It selected the Duke of Orleans, the sonof Philippe Égalité, for its king. 

Louis Philippe, the enthusiastic republican of 1790, who at that timehad caused the three words "_Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité_" and theinscription "_Vive la République, "_ to be burnt on his arm, in order toprove his republicanism; the proscribed Louis Philippe, who had wanderedthrough Europe a fugitive, earning his bread by teaching writing andlanguages--the same Louis Philippe now became King of France. 

The people called him to the throne; they tore the white flag from theroof of the Tuileries, but they knew no other or better one with whichto replace it than the _tricolore_ of the empire. 

Under the shadow of this _tricolore_ Louis Philippe mounted the throne, and the people--to whom the three colors recalled the glorious era ofthe empire--the people shouted with delight, and in order to indulgetheir sympathies they demanded for France--not the son of Napoleon, notNapoleon II. --but the ashes of Napoleon, and the emperor's statue on thePalace Vendôme. Louis Philippe accorded them both, but with theseconcessions he thought he had done enough. He had accepted the_tricolore_ of the empire; he had promised that the emperor should watchover Paris from the summit of the Vendôme monument, and to cause hisashes to be brought to Paris--these were sufficient proofs of love. 

They might be accorded the dead Napoleon without danger, but it would beworse to accord them to living Napoleons; such a course might easilyshake the new throne, and recall the allies to Paris. 

The hatred of the princes of Europe against Napoleon was still continuedagainst his family, and it was with them, as Metternich said, "aprinciple never to tolerate another Napoleon on the throne. "

The European powers had signified to the King of France, through theirdiplomatic agents, their readiness to acknowledge him, but they exactedone condition--the condition that Louis Philippe should confirm or renewthe decree of exile fulminated by the Bourbons against the Bonapartes. 

Louis Philippe had accepted this condition; and the Bonapartes, whoseonly crime was that they were the brothers and relatives of the deceasedemperor, before whom not only France, but all the princes of Europe, hadonce bent the knee--the Bonapartes were once more declared strangers totheir country, and condemned to exile!

CHAPTER IV. 

THE REVOLUTION IN ROME, AND THE SONS OF HORTENSE. 

It was a terrible blow to the Bonapartes, this new decree of banishment!Like a stroke of lightning it entered their hearts, annihilating theirholiest hopes and most ardent desires, and their joy over the gloriousand heroic revolution of July gave place to a bitter sense ofdisappointment. 

Nothing, therefore, remained for them but to continue the life to whichthey had become somewhat accustomed, and to console themselves, fortheir new disappointment, with the arts and sciences. 

At the end of October, in the year 1830, Hortense determined to leaveArenenberg and go to Rome with her son, as she was in the habit of doingevery year. 

But this time she first went to Florence, where her elder son, NapoleonLouis, recently married to his cousin, the second daughter of KingJoseph, was now living with his young wife. The heart of the tendermother was filled with anxiety and care; she felt and saw that this newFrench Revolution was likely to infect all Europe, and that Italy, aboveall, would be unable to avoid this infection. Italy was diseased to thecore, and it was to be feared that it would grasp at desperate means inits agony, and proceed to the blood-letting of a revolution, in order torestore itself to health. Hortense felt this, and feared for her sons. 

She feared that the exiled, the homeless ones who had been driven fromtheir country, and were not permitted to serve it, would devote theirservices to those who were unhappy and who suffered like themselves. Shefeared the enthusiasm, the generous courage, the energy of her sons, andshe knew that, if a revolution should break out in Italy, it wouldgladly adorn itself with the name of Napoleon. 

Hortense, therefore, conjured her sons to hold themselves aloof from alldangerous undertakings, and not to follow those who might appeal to themwith the old word of magic power, "liberty;" that, in spite of the tearsand blood it has already caused mankind, can never lose itswondrous power. 

Her two sons promised compliance; and, much relieved, Hortense leftFlorence, and went, with her younger son, Louis Napoleon, to Rome. 

But Rome, otherwise so aristocratic and solemn, assumed an unusual, anentirely new, physiognomy this winter. In society the topics ofconversation were no longer art and poetry, the Pantheon and St. Peter, or what the newest amusement should be; but politics and the FrenchRevolution were the all-engrossing topics, and the populace listenedanxiously for the signal that should announce that the revolution inItaly had at last begun. 

Even the populace of Rome, usually addicted to lying so harmlessly inthe sunshine, now assembled in dense groups on the streets, and strangewords were heard when the police cautiously approached these groups forthe purpose of listening. But they now lacked the courage to arrestthose who uttered those words; they felt that such a provocation mightsuffice to tear away the veil behind which the revolution stillconcealed itself. 

The whole energy and watchfulness of the Roman government was thereforeemployed in endeavoring to avert the revolution, if possible; not, however, by removing the cause and occasion, but by depriving the peopleof the means. The son of Hortense, Louis Napoleon, seemed to thegovernment a means which the revolution might use for its purposes, andit was therefore determined that he should be removed. 

His name, and even the three-colored saddle-blanket of his horse, withwhich he rode through the streets of Rome, were exciting to thepopulace, in whose veins the fever of revolution was already throbbing. Louis Napoleon must therefore be removed. 

The Governor of Rome first addressed the prince's great-uncle, CardinalFesch, requesting him to advise the Duchess of St. Leu to remove theyoung prince from Rome for a few weeks. 

But the cardinal indignantly declared that his nephew, who had donenothing, should not be compelled to leave Rome merely on account of hisname and his saddle-blanket, and that he would never advise the Duchessof St. Leu to do anything of the kind. 

The Roman government therefore determined to adopt energetic means. Itcaused the dwelling of the duchess to be surrounded by soldiers, whilea papal office presented himself before Hortense, and announced that hehad received orders to remove Prince Louis from the city at once, and toconduct him without the papal territory. 

The fear of approaching evil caused the government to forget the respectdue to nobility in misfortune and the emperor's nephew was turned out ofthe city like a criminal!

Hortense received this intelligence almost with joy. Far from Rome, itseemed to her that he would be safer from the revolution, whose approachshe so much dreaded; and it therefore afforded her great satisfaction tosend the prince to Florence, to his father, believing that he wouldthere be shielded from the dangerous political calumnies that threatenedhim in Rome. She therefore permitted him to depart; and how could shehave prevented his departure--she, the lone, powerless woman, to whomnot even the French ambassador would have accorded protection! No oneinterceded for her--no one protested against the violent and brutalcourse pursued toward Louis Napoleon--no one, except the Russianambassador. 

The Emperor of Russia was the only one of all the sovereigns of Europewho felt himself strong enough not to ignore the name of Napoleon, andthe consideration due to the family of a hero and of an emperor. 

The Emperor of Russia had, therefore, never refused his protection andassistance to the Bonapartes, and his ambassador was now the only onewho protested against the violent course taken by the Roman government. 

The revolution at last broke forth. Italy arose as France had done, resolved to throw off the yoke of tyranny and oppression, and be free!The storm first broke out in Modena. The duke saw himself compelled tofly, and a provisional government under General Menotti placed itself inhis stead. But, while this was taking place in Modena, the populace ofRome was holding high festival in honor of the newly-chosen Pope GregoryXVI. , who had just taken his seat in the chair of the deceased Pope PiusVIII. , and these festivities, and the Carnival, seemed to occupy theundivided attention of the Romans; under the laughing mask of theserejoicings the revolution hid its grave and threatening visage, and itwas not until _mardi-gras_ that it laid this mask aside and showed itstrue countenance. 

The people had been accustomed to throw confectionery and flowers onthis day, but this time the day was to be made memorable by a shower ofstones and bullets; this time they were not to appear in the harlequinjacket, but in their true form, earnest, grand, commanding, self-conscious, and self-asserting. 

But the government had been informed of the intention of theconspirators to avail themselves of the drive to the Corso, to begin therevolution, and this procession was prohibited an hour before the timeappointed for its commencement. 

The people arose against this prohibition, and the revolution they hadendeavored to repress by this means now broke out. 

The thunder of cannon and the rattling of musketry now resounded throughthe streets of Rome, and the people everywhere resisted the papalsoldiery with energy and determination. 

The new pope trembled in the Quirinal, the old cardinals lost courage, and in dismay recoiled a step at every advancing stride of theinsurgents. Gregory felt that the papal crown he had just achieved wasalready on the point of falling from his head, to be trodden in the dustby the victorious populace; he turned to Austria, and solicited help andassistance. 

But young Italy, the Italy of enthusiasm, of liberty, and of hope, looked to France for support. Old Italy had turned to Austria for help;young Italy looked for assistance to the free, newly-arisen France, inwhich the revolution had just celebrated a glorious victory. But Francedenied its Italian brother, and denied its own origin; scarcely had therevolution seated itself on the newly-erected kingly throne and investeditself with the crown and purple robe, when, for its own safety, itbecame reactionary, and denied itself. 

With all Italy, Rome was resolved to shake off the yoke of oppression;the whole people espoused this cause with enthusiasm; and in the streetsof Rome--at other times filled with priests and monks and holyprocessions--in these streets, now alive with the triumphant youth ofRome, resounded exultant songs of freedom. 

The strangers, terrified by this change, now quitted the holy city incrowds, and hastened to their homes. Hortense desired to remain; sheknew that she had nothing to fear from the people, for all the evil thathad hitherto overtaken her, had come, not from the people, but alwaysfrom the princes only[59]. However, letters suddenly arrived from hersons, conjuring her to leave Rome and announcing that they would leaveFlorence within the hour, in order to hasten forward to meettheir mother. 

[Footnote 59: La Reine Hortense, p. 63. ]

Upon reading this, Hortense cried aloud with terror--she, who knew anddesired no other happiness on earth than the happiness of her children, she whose only prayer to God had ever been, that her children mightprosper and that she might die before them, now felt that a fearfuldanger threatened her sons, and that they were now about to be sweptinto the vortex of the revolution. 

They had left Florence, and their father, and were now on the way toRome, that is, on the way to the revolution that would welcome them withjoy, and inscribe the name Napoleon on its standards!

But it was perhaps still time to save them; with her prayers andentreaties she might still succeed in arresting them on the verge of theabyss into which they were hastening in the intoxication of theirenthusiasm. As this thought occurred to her, Hortense felt herselfstrong, determined, and courageous; and, on the same day on which shehad received the letters, she left Rome, and hurried forward to meether sons. She still hoped to be in time to save them; she fancied shesaw her sons in every approaching carriage--but in vain!

They had written that they would meet her on the road, but they were notthere!

Perhaps they had listened to the representations of their father;perhaps they had remained in Florence and were awaiting their mother'sarrival there. 

Tormented by fear and hope, Hortense arrived in Florence and drove tothe dwelling in which her son Louis Napoleon had resided. Her feet couldscarcely bear her up; she hardly found strength to inquire after herson--he was not there!

But he might be with his father, and Hortense now sent there forintelligence of her sons. The messenger returned, alone and dejected:her sons had left the city!

The exultant hymn of liberty had struck on their delighted ear, and theyhad responded to the call of the revolution. 

General Menotti had appealed to them, in the name of Italy, to assistthe cause of freedom with their name and with their swords, and they hadneither the will nor the courage to disregard this appeal. 

A servant, left behind by her younger son, delivered to the duchess aletter from her son Louis Napoleon, a last word of adieu to hisbeloved mother. 

"Your love will understand us, " wrote Louis Napoleon. "We cannotwithdraw ourselves from duties that devolve upon us; the name we bearobliges us to listen to the appeal of unhappy nations. I beg you torepresent this matter to my sister-in-law as though I had persuaded mybrother to accompany me; it grieves him to have concealed from her oneaction of his life[60]. "

[Footnote 60: La Reine Hortense, p. 78. ]

CHAPTER V. 

THE DEATH OF PRINCE NAPOLEON. 

That which Hortense most dreaded had taken place: the voice ofenthusiasm had silenced every other consideration; and the two sons ofthe Duchess of St. Leu, the nephews of the Emperor Napoleon, now stoodat the head of the revolution. From Foligno to Civita Castellano, theyorganized the defence, and from the cities and villages the young peoplejoyously hurried forth to enroll themselves under their banners, and toobey the Princes Napoleon as their leaders; the crowds which the youngprinces now led were scarcely armed, but they nevertheless advancedcourageously, and were resolved to attempt the capture of CivitaCastellano, in order to liberate the state prisoners who had beenlanguishing in its dungeons for eight years. 

This was the intelligence brought back by the couriers whom Hortense haddispatched to her sons with letters entreating them to return. 

It was too late--they neither would nor could return. 

Their father wrung his hands in despair, and conjured his wife, hebeing confined to his arm-chair by illness and the gout, to do all inher power to tear their sons from the fearful danger that menaced them. For the revolution was lost; all who were cool and collected felt andsaw this. But the youth refused to see it; they still continued to flockto the revolutionary banners; they still sang exultant hymns of freedom, and, when their parents endeavored to hold them back, they fled from theparental house secretly, in order to answer the call that resounded ontheir ear in such divine notes. 

One of the sons of the Princess of Canino, the wife of Lucien Bonaparte, had fled from his father's castle in order to join the insurgents. Theysucceeded in finding, and forcing him to return, and as the family wereunder obligations to the pope for having created the principalities ofCanino and Musignano, for Lucien Bonaparte and his eldest son, the mostextreme measures were adopted to prevent the young prince from fightingagainst the troops of the pope;

The Princess of Canino, as a favor, requested the Grand-duke of Tuscanyto confine her son in one of the state prisons of Tuscany; her requestwas granted, and her son taken to a prison, where he was kept during theentire revolution. It was proposed to the Duchess of St. Leu to adoptthis same means of prevention, but, in spite of her anxiety and care, and although, in her restlessness and feverish disquiet, she wanderedthrough her rooms day and night, she declined to take such a course. She was not willing to subject her sons to the humiliation of suchcompulsion; if their own reason, if the prayers and entreaties of theirmother, did not suffice, force should not be resorted to, to bring themback. The whole family was, however, still employing every means toinduce the two Princes Napoleon to withdraw from the revolution, whichmust inevitably again draw down upon the name Napoleon the suspicion ofthe angry and distrustful princes of Europe. 

Cardinal Fesch and King Jerome conjured their nephews, first inentreating, and then in commanding letters, to leave the insurgent army. 

With the consent of their father, Louis Bonaparte, they wrote to theprovisional government at Bologna that the name of the two princes wasinjuring the cause of the revolution, and to General Armandi, theminister of war of the insurgent government, entreating him to recallthe princes from the army. Every one, friend and foe, combined toneutralize the zeal and efforts of the two princes, and to prove to themthat they could only injure the cause to which they gave their names;that foreign powers, considering the revolution a matter to be decidedby Italy alone, would perhaps refrain from intervening; but that theywould become relentless should a Bonaparte place himself at the head ofthe revolution, in order perhaps to shake the thrones of Europe anew. 

The two princes at last yielded to these entreaties and representations;they gave up their commands, and resigned the rank that had beenaccorded them in the insurgent army; but, as it was no longer in theirpower to serve the revolution with their name and with their brains, they were at least desirous of serving it with their arms: they resignedtheir commands, but with the intention of remaining in the army assimple soldiers and volunteers without any rank. 

And when their father and their uncles, not yet satisfied with what theyhad done, urged them still further the two princes declared that, ifthese cruel annoyances were continued, they would go to Poland, andserve the revolution there[61]. 

[Footnote 61: La Reine Hortense, p. 93. ]

Hortense had taken no part in these attempts and efforts of her family;she knew that it was all in vain; she understood her sons better thanthey, and she knew that nothing in the world could alter a resolutionthey had once formed. But she also knew that they were lost, that therevolution must be suppressed, that they would soon be proscribedfugitives, and she quietly prepared to assist them when the evil daysshould come. She armed herself with courage and determination, and madeher soul strong, in order that she might not be overwhelmed by themisfortune that was so near at hand. 

While all about her were weeping and lamenting, while her husband waswringing his hands in despair, and complaining of the present, Hortensequietly and resolutely confronted the future, and prepared to defy it. 

That which she dreaded soon took place. An Austrian fleet sailed intothe Adriatic; an Austrian army was marching on the insurrectionaryItalian provinces. Modena had already been reconquered; the insurgentswere already flying in crowds before the Austrian cannon, whosethundering salvos were destined to destroy once more the hopes of theyouth of Italy. 

Like an enraged lioness glowing with enthusiasm and courage, Hortensenow sprang up. The danger was there, and she must save her sons! She hadlong considered how it was to be done, and whither she was to go withthem. She had first resolved to go with them to Turkey, and to take upher residence in Smyrna, but the presence of the Austrian fleet whichruled the Adriatic made this plan impracticable. At this moment ofextreme danger, a volume of light suddenly beamed in upon her soul, andpointed out the way to safety. "I will take them by a road, " said she toherself, "on which they will be least expected. I will conduct themthrough France, through Paris. The death-penalty will there hangsuspended over them, but what care I for that? Liberty, justice, andhumanity, still exercise too much control over France to make meapprehend such severe measures. I must save my sons; the way throughFrance is the way of safety, and I shall therefore follow it!"

And Hortense immediately began to carry her plan into execution. Sherequested an Englishman residing in Florence, to whose family she hadonce rendered important services in France, to call on her, and beggedhim to procure her a passport for an English lady and her two sonsthrough France to England. 

The lord understood her, and gladly consented to assist her and her twosons. 

On the following day he brought her the required passport, and Hortense, who well knew that the best way to keep a secret was to have noconfidants, now declared to her husband, as well as to her family andher friends that she was resolved to find her sons, and to embark withthem from Ancona for Corfu!

For this purpose she demanded a passport of the government of Tuscany, and it was accorded her. 

Her sons were still in Bologna, but it was known that this city mustfall into the hands of the Austrians in a few days, and all was lostunless Hortense arrived there before them. She sent a trusty servant toher sons to announce her coming. Then, at nightfall, she herselfdeparted, accompanied by one of her ladies only. She was courageous andresolute, for she knew that the safety of her sons, her only happiness, was at stake. 

Her rapidly-driven carriage had soon passed without the city, and shenow found herself in a part of the country still occupied by theinsurgents. Here all still breathed courage, joyousness, and confidence. The entire population, adorned with cockades and three-colored ribbons, seemed happy and contented, and refused to believe in the danger thatthreatened. 

Festivals were everywhere being held in honor of the revolution and ofliberty, and those who spoke of the advancing Austrians and of dangerswere ridiculed. Instead of making preparations for their defence, theinsurgents folded their hands in contentment, rejoicing over that whichthey had already attained, and blind to the tide that was rolling downupon them. 

In the mean while, the insurgent army was in position near Bologna, andalso still occupied the two cities of Terni and Soleta, which they hadcourageously defended against the papal troops. Every one expected thata decisive battle would soon take place, and every one looked forward toit with a joyous assurance of victory. 

Hortense was far from participating in this general confidence. InFoligno, where she had remained to await her sons, she passed severalsorrowful days of expectancy and suspense, alarmed by every noise, andever looking forward with an anxiously-throbbing heart to the momentwhen her sons should come to her as fugitives, perhaps covered withwounds, perhaps dying, to tell her that all was lost! Her anxiety atlast became so great, that she could no longer remain in Foligno; shemust be nearer her sons, she must view the dangers that encompassedthem, and, if need be, share them. Hortense, therefore, left Foligno, and started for Ancona. 

On her arrival at the first station, she saw a man descend from acarriage and approach her. He was unknown to her, and yet she felt adark foreboding at his approach. The mother's heart already felt theblow that awaited her. 

This man was a messenger from her sons. "Prince Napoleon is ill, " saidhe. 

Hortense remembered that she had heard that a contagious disease wasravaging the vicinity. "Is he indeed ill?" cried she, in dismay. 

"Yes; and he earnestly desires to see you, madame!"

"Oh, " exclaimed Hortense, in terror, "if he calls for me, he must bevery ill indeed!--Forward, forward, with all possible speed; I mustsee my son!"

And onward they went with the speed of the wind from station to station, approaching nearer and nearer to their destination; but as they nearedtheir destination, the faces they met grew sadder and sadder. At everystation groups of people assembled about her carriage and gazed at hersorrowfully; everywhere she heard them murmur: "Napoleon is dead! Poormother! Napoleon is dead!" Hortense heard, but did not believe it! Thesewords had not been spoken by men, but were the utterances of her anxiousheart! Her son was not dead, he could not be dead. Napoleon lived, yes, he still lived! And again the people around her carriage murmured, "Napoleon is dead!"

Hortense reclined in her carriage, pale and motionless. Her thoughtswere confused, her heart scarcely beat. 

At last she reached her destination; her carriage drove up to the housein Pesaro, where her sons were awaiting her. 

At this moment a young man, his countenance of a deathly pallor, andflooded with tears, rushed out of the door and to her carriage. Hortenserecognized him, and stretched out her arms to him. It was her son LouisNapoleon, and on beholding his pale, sorrowful countenance, and histear-stained eyes, the unhappy mother learned the truth. Yes, it was nother heart, it was the people who had uttered the fearful words:"Napoleon is dead! Poor mother! Napoleon is dead!"

With a heart-rending cry, Hortense sank to the ground in a swoon. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE FLIGHT FROM ITALY. 

But Hortense now had no leisure to weep over the son she had so dearlyloved; the safety of the son who remained to her, whom she loved noless, and on whom her whole love must now be concentrated, was at stake. 

She still had a son to save, and she must now think of him--of LouisNapoleon, who stood in sorrow at her side, lamenting that Fate had notallowed him to die with his brother. 

Her son must be saved. This thought restored Hortense to health andstrength. She is informed that the authorities of Bologna have alreadytendered submission to the Austrians; that the insurgent army is alreadyscattering in every direction; that the Austrian fleet is already to beseen in the distance, approaching, perhaps with the intention of landingat Sinigaglia, in order to surround the insurgents and render flightimpossible. 

This intelligence aroused Hortense from her grief and restored herenergy. She ordered her carriage and drove with her son to Ancona, infull view of the people, in order that every one should know that it washer purpose to embark with her son for Corfu at that seaport. At Ancona, immediately fronting the sea, stood her nephew's palace, and thereHortense descended from her carriage. 

The waves of the storm-tossed sea sometimes rushed up to the windows ofthe room occupied by the duchess; from there she could see the port, andthe crowds of fugitives who were pressing forward to save themselves onthe miserable little vessels that there lay at anchor. 

And these poor people had but little time left them in which to seeksafety. The Austrians were rapidly advancing; on entering the papalterritory, they had proclaimed an amnesty, from the benefits of whichPrince Louis Napoleon, General Zucchi, and the inhabitants of Modena, were, however, excepted. The strangers who had taken part in theinsurrection were to be arrested and treated with all the severityof the law. 

The young people who had flocked from Modena, Milan, and from all Italy, to enroll themselves under the banner of the Roman revolution, now foundit necessary to seek safety from the pursuing Austrians in flight. 

Louis Napoleon also had no time to lose; each moment lost might renderflight impossible! Hortense was weary and ill, but she now had no timeto think of herself; she must first save her son, then she could die, but not sooner. 

With perfect composure she prepared for her double (her feigned and herreal) departure. 

Outwardly, she purposed embarking with her son at Corfu; secretly, itwas her intention to fly to England through France! But the Englishpassport that she had received for this purpose mentioned two sons, andHortense now possessed but one; and it was necessary for her to providea substitute for the one she had lost. 

She found one in the person of the young Marquis Zappi, who, compromisedmore than all the rest, joyfully accepted the proposition of the Duchessof St. Leu, promising to conform himself wholly to her arrangements, without knowing her plans and without being initiated in her secrets. 

Hortense then procured all that was necessary to the disguise of theyoung men as liveried servants, and ordered her carriage to be held inreadiness for her departure. 

While this was being done in secret, she publicly caused allpreparations to be made for her journey to Corfu. She sent her passportto the authorities for the purpose of obtaining the official _visa_ forherself and sons, and had her trunks packed. Louis Napoleon had lookedon, with cold and mute indifference, while these preparations were beingmade. He stood by, pale and dejected, without complaining or givingutterance to his grief. 

Becoming at last convinced that he was ill, Hortense sent for aphysician. 

The latter declared that the prince was suffering from a severe attackof fever, which might become dangerous unless he sought repose at once. It was therefore necessary to postpone their departure for a day, andHortense passed an anxious night at the bedside of her fever-shaken, delirious son. 

The morning at last dawned, the morning of the day on which they hopedto fly; but when the rising sun shed its light into the chamber in whichHortense stood at her son's bedside, who can describe the unhappymother's horror when she saw her son's face swollen, disfigured, andcovered with red spots!

Like his brother, Louis Napoleon had also taken the same disease. 

For a moment Hortense was completely overwhelmed, and then, by thegreatest effort of her life, she summoned her fortitude to her aid. Sheimmediately sent for the physician again, and, trusting to a sympathetichuman heart, she confided all to him, and he did not disappoint her. What is to be done must be done quickly, immediately, or it will bein vain!

Hortense thinks of all, and provides for all. Especially, she causes herson's passport to Corfu to be signed by the authorities, and a passageto be taken for him on the only ship destined for Corfu now lying in theharbor. She instructs the servants, who are conveying trunks andpackages to the vessel, to inform the curious spectators of her son'sintended departure on this vessel. She at the same time causes thereport to be circulated that she has suddenly been taken ill, and cantherefore not accompany her son. 

The physician confirms this statement, and informs all Ancona of thedangerous illness of the Duchess of St. Leu. 

And after all this had been done, Hortense causes her son's bed to becarried into the little cabinet adjoining her room, and falling on herknees at his bedside, and covering her face with her hands, she prays toGod to preserve the life of her child!

On the evening of this day the vessel destined for Corfu hoisted itsanchor. No one doubted that Louis Napoleon had embarked on it, and everyone pitied the poor duchess, who, made ill by grief and anxiety, had notbeen able to accompany her son. 

In the mean while Hortense was sitting at the bedside of her deliriousson. But she no longer felt weak or disquieted; nervous excitementsustained her, and gave her strength and presence of mind. Her son wasat the same time threatened by two dangers--by the disease, which theslightest mistake might render mortal; and by the arrival of theAustrians, who had expressly excepted her son Louis Napoleon from thebenefits of the amnesty. She must save her son from both thesedangers--this thought gave her strength. 

Two days had now passed; the last two vessels had left the harbor, crowded with fugitives; and now the advance-guard of the Austrians wasmarching into Ancona. 

The commandant of the advance-guard, upon whom the duty of designatingquarters for the following army devolved, selected the palace ofPrincess Canino, where the Duchess of St. Leu resided, as headquartersfor the commanding general and his staff. Hortense had expected this, and had withdrawn to a few small rooms in advance, holding all theparlors and large rooms in readiness for the general. When they, however, demanded that the entire palace should be vacated, the wife ofthe janitor, the only person whom Hortense had taken into herconfidence, informed them that Queen Hortense, who was ill and unhappy, was the sole occupant of these reserved rooms. 

Strange to relate, the Austrian captain who came to the palace to makethe necessary preparations for his general's reception was one of thosewho, in the year 1815, had protected the queen and her children from thefury of the royalists. For the second time he now interested himselfzealously in behalf of the duchess, and hastened forward to meet thegeneral-in-chief, Baron Geppert, who was just entering the city, inorder to acquaint him with the state of affairs. He, in common with allthe world, convinced that her son, Louis Napoleon, had fled to Corfu, declared his readiness to permit the duchess to retain the rooms she wasoccupying, and begged permission to call on her. But the duchess wasstill ill, and confined to her bed, and could receive no one. 

The Austrians took up their quarters in the palace; and in the midst ofthem, separated from the general's room by a locked door only, wereHortense and her sick son. The least noise might betray him. When hecoughed it was necessary to cover his head with the bedclothes, in orderto deaden the sound; when he desired to speak he could only do so in awhisper, for his Austrian neighbors would have been astonished to hear amale voice in the room of the sick duchess, and their suspicions mighthave been thereby aroused. 

At last, after eight days of torment and anxiety, the physician declaredthat Louis Napoleon could now undertake the journey without danger, andconsequently the duchess suddenly recovered! She requested the Austriangeneral, Baron Geppert, to honor her with a call, in order that shemight thank him for his protection and sympathy; she told him that shewas now ready to depart, and proposed embarking at Livorno, in order tojoin her son at Malta, and go with him to England. As she would becompelled to pass through the whole Austrian army-corps on her way, shebegged the general to furnish her with a passport through his lines overhis own signature; requesting in addition that, in order to avoid allsensation, the instrument should not contain her name. 

The general, deeply sympathizing with the unhappy woman who was about tofollow her proscribed son, readily accorded her request. 

Hortense purposed beginning her journey on the following day, the firstday of the Easter festival; and, on sending her farewell greeting to theAustrian general, she informed him that she would start at a very earlyhour, in order to hear mass at Loretto. 

During the night all necessary preparations for the journey were made, and Louis Napoleon was compelled to disguise himself in the dress of aliveried servant; a similar attire was also sent to Marquis Zappi, whohad hitherto been concealed in the house of a friend, and in this attirehe was to await the duchess below at the carriage. 

At last, day broke and the hour of departure came. The horn of thepostilion resounded through the street. Through the midst of thesleeping Austrian soldiers who occupied the antechamber through whichthey were compelled to pass, Hortense walked, followed by her son loadedwith packages, in his livery. Their departure was witnessed by no oneexcept the sentinel on duty. 

Day had hardly dawned. In the first carriage sat the duchess, with alady companion, and in front, on the box, her son, as a servant, at theside of the postilion; in the second carriage her maid, behind her theyoung Marquis Zappi. 

As the sun arose and shone down upon the beautiful Easter day, Anconawas already far behind, and Hortense knelt down at the side of LouisNapoleon to thank God tearfully for having permitted her to succeed sofar in rescuing her son, and to entreat Him to be merciful in thefuture. But there were still many dangers to be overcome; the slightestaccident might still betray them. The danger consisted not only inhaving to pass through all the places where the Austrian troops werestationed; General Geppert's pass was a sufficient protection againstany thing that might threaten them from this quarter. 

The greatest danger was to be apprehended from their friends--from someone who might accidentally recognize her son, and unintentionallybetray them. 

They must pass through the grand-duchy of Tuscany, and there thegreatest danger menaced, for there her son was known to every one, andevery one might betray them. This part of the journey must therefore bemade, as far as possible, by night. The courier whom they had dispatchedin advance had everywhere ordered the necessary relays of horses; theirdismay was, therefore, great when they found no horses at the stationCamoscia, on the boundary of Tuscany, and were informed that severalhours must elapse before they could obtain any!

These hours of expectation and anxiety were fearful. Hortense passedthem in her carriage, breathlessly listening to the slightest noise thatbroke upon the air. 

Her son Louis had descended from the carriage, and seated himself on astone bench that stood in front of the miserable little station-house. Worn out by grief and still weak from disease, indifferent to thedangers that menaced from all sides, heedless of the night wind thatswept, with its icy breath, over his face, the prince sank down uponthis stone bench, and went to sleep. 

Thus they passed the night. Hortense, once a queen, in a half-opencarriage; Louis Napoleon, the present Emperor of France, on a stonebench, that served him as a couch!

CHAPTER VII. 

THE PILGRIMAGE. 

Heaven took pity on the agony of the unhappy Duchess of St. Leu. Itheard the prayer of her anxious mother's heart, and permitted mother andson to escape the dangers that menaced them at every step in Italy. 

At Antibes they succeeded in crossing the French boundary without beingrecognized. They were now in their own country--in _la belle France_, which they still loved and proudly called their mother, although it hadforsaken and discarded them. The death-penalty threatened the Bonaparteswho should dare to set foot on French soil. But what cared they forthat? Neither Hortense nor her son thought of it. They only knew thatthey were in their own country. They inhaled with delight the air thatseemed to them better and purer than any other; with hearts throbbingwith joy, they listened to the music of this beautiful language thatgreeted them with the sweet native melodies. 

At Cannes they passed the first night. What recollections did this placerecall to Hortense! Here it was that Napoleon had landed on his returnfrom Elba to France; from Cannes he had commenced his march to Pariswith a handful of soldiers, and had arrived there with an army. For thepeople had everywhere received him with exultation; the regiments thathad been sent out against the advancing general had everywhere joyouslygone over to his standard. Charles de Labédoyère, this enthusiasticadherent of the emperor, had been the first to do this. He was to haveadvanced against the emperor from Grenoble; but, with the exulting cry, "_Vive l'empereur!_" the entire regiment had gone over to its adoredchieftain. Labédoyère had paid dearly for the enthusiasm of thosemoments; for, the for-the-second-time restored Bourbons punished hisfidelity with death. Like Marshal Ney, Charles de Labédoyère was alsoshot; like the emperor himself, he paid for the triumph of the hundreddays with his liberty and with his life!

Of all these names and events of the past, Hortense thought, whileenjoying the first hours of repose in their room at an hotel in Cannes. Leaning back in her chair, her large eyes gazing dreamily at the ceilingabove her, she told the attentive prince of the days that had been, andspoke to him of the days in which they were now living--of these days ofhumiliation and obscurity--of those days in which the French nation hadrisen, and, shaking its lion's mane, hurled the Bourbons from theirancestral throne, and out of the land they had hitherto proudly calledtheir own. On driving out the Bourbons, the people had freely chosenanother king--not the King of Rome, who, in Vienna, as Duke ofReichstadt, had been made to forget the brilliant days of hischildhood--not the son of the Emperor Napoleon. The people of France hadchosen the Duke of Orleans as their king, and Louis Philippe's first acthad been to renew the decree of banishment which the Bourbons hadfulminated against the Bonapartes, and which declared it to be acapital crime if they should ever dare to set foot on the soilof France. 

"The people acted freely and according to their own will, " saidHortense, with a sad smile, as she saw her son turn pale, and wrinklesgather on his brow. "Honor the will of the people, my son! In order toreward the emperor for his great services to the country, the people ofFrance had unanimously chosen him their emperor. The people who givehave also the right to take back again. The Bourbons, who considerthemselves the owners of France, may reclaim it as an estate of whichthey have been robbed by the house of Orleans. But the Bonapartes mustremember that they derived all their power from the will of the people. They must be content to await the future expression of its will, andthen submit, and conform themselves to it[62]. "

[Footnote 62: The duchess's own words. See La Reine Hortense en Italie, Suisse, France, etc. , p. 79. ]

Louis Napoleon bowed his head and sighed. He must conform to the will ofthe people; cautiously, under a borrowed name, he must steal into theland of his longing and of his dreams; he must deny his nationality, andbe indebted, for his name and passport, to the country that had boundhis uncle, like a second Prometheus, to the rock, and left him there todie! But he did it with a sorrowful, with a bleeding heart; he wanderedwith his mother, who walked heavily veiled at his side, from place toplace, listening to her reminiscences of the great past. At herrelation of these reminiscences, his love and enthusiasm for thefatherland, from which he had so long been banished, burned brighter andbrighter. The sight, the air of this fatherland, had electrified him; heentertained but one wish: to remain in France, and to serve France, although in the humble capacity of a private soldier. 

One day Louis Napoleon entered his mother's room with a letter in hishand, and begged her to read it. It was a letter addressed to LouisPhilippe, in which Louis Napoleon begged the French king to annul hisexile, and to permit him to enter the French army as a private soldier. 

Hortense read the letter, and shook her head sadly. It wounded her justpride that her son, the nephew of the great emperor, should ask a favorof him who had not hesitated to make the most of the revolution forhimself, but had nevertheless lacked the courage to help the banishedBonapartes to recover their rights, and enable them to return to theircountry. In his ardent desire to serve France, Louis Napoleon hadforgotten this insult of the King of France. 

"My children, " says Hortense, in her memoirs, "my children, who had beencruelly persecuted by all the courts, even by those who owed every thingto the emperor, their uncle, loved their country with whole-souleddevotion. Their eyes ever turned toward France, busied with theconsideration of institutions that might make France happy; they knewthat the people alone were their friends; the hatred of the great hadtaught them this. To conform to the will of the people with resignationwas to them a duty, but to devote themselves to the service of Francewas their hearts' dearest wish. It was for this reason that my son hadwritten to Louis Philippe hoping to be permitted to make himself usefulto his country in some way. "

Hortense advised against this venturous step; and when she saw how muchthis grieved her son, and observed his eyes filling with tears, shebegged that he would at least wait and reflect, and postpone hisdecision until their arrival in Paris. 

Louis Napoleon yielded to his mother's entreaties, and in silence andsadness these two pilgrims continued their wandering through the countryand cities, that to Hortense seemed transformed into luminous monumentsof departed glory. 

In Fontainebleau Hortense showed her son the palace that had been thewitness of the greatest triumphs and also of the most bitter grief ofhis great uncle. Leaning on his arm, her countenance concealed by aheavy black veil, to prevent any one from recognizing her, Hortensewalked through the chambers, in which she had once been installed as amighty and honored queen, and in which she was now covertly an exilemenaced with death. The servants who conducted her were the same who hadbeen there during the days of the emperor! Hortense recognized them atonce; she did not dare to make herself known, but she nevertheless feltthat she, too, was remembered there. She saw this in the expressionwith which the servants opened the rooms she had once occupied; sheheard it in the tone in which they mentioned her name! Every thing inthis palace had remained as it then was! There was the same furniture inthe rooms which the imperial family had occupied after the peace ofTilsit, and in which they had given such brilliant _fêtes_, and receivedthe homage of so many of the kings and princes of Europe, all of whomhad come to implore the assistance and favor of their vanquisher! Therewere also the apartments which the pope had occupied, once voluntarily;subsequently, under compulsion. Alas! and there was also the littlecabinet, in which the emperor, the once so mighty and illustrious rulerof Europe, had abdicated the crown which his victories, his good deeds, and the love of the French people, had placed on his head! And, finally, there were also the chapel and the altar before which the EmperorNapoleon had stood god-father to his nephew Louis Napoleon! All wasstill as it had been, except that the garden, that Hortense and hermother had laid out and planted, had grown more luxuriant, and now sangto the poor banished pilgrim with its rustling tree-tops a melancholysong of her long separation from her home!

The sorrowing couple wandered on, and at last arrived before the gatesof Paris. At this moment, Hortense was a Frenchwoman, a Parisian only, and, forgetting every thing else, all her grief and sufferings, shesought only to do the honors of Paris for her son. She ordered thecoachman to drive them through the boulevards to the Rue de la Paix, and then to stop at the first good hotel. This was the same way overwhich she had passed sixteen years before, escorted by an Austrianofficer. Then she had quitted Paris by night, driven out in a measure bythe allies, who so much feared her, the poor, weak woman with her littleboys, that troops had been placed under arms at regular intervals on herway, in order, as it was given out, to secure her safe passage. Now, after sixteen years, Hortense returned to Paris by the same route, stillexiled and homeless, at her side the son who was not only menaced by theFrench decree of banishment, but also by the Austrian edict ofproscription. 

But yet she was once more in Paris, once more at home, and she wept withjoy at beholding once more the streets and places about which thememories of her youth clustered. 

By a strange chance, it was at the "_Hôtel de Hollande_" that the formerQueen of Holland descended from her carriage, and took up her residence, holding thus, in a measure, her entrance into Paris, under thefluttering banner of the past. In the little _Hôtel de Hollande_, theQueen of Holland took possession of the apartments of the first floor, which commanded a view of the boulevard and the column of the _PlaceVendôme. _ "Say to the column on the _Place Vendôme_ that I am dying, because I cannot embrace it, " the Duke de Reichstadt once wrote in thealbum of a French nobleman, who had succeeded, in spite of the watchfulspies, who surrounded the emperor's son, in speaking to him of hisfather and of the empire. This happiness, vainly longed for by theemperor's son, was at least to be enjoyed by his nephew. 

Louis Napoleon could venture to show himself. In Paris he was entirelyunknown, and could therefore be betrayed by no one. He could go downinto the square and hasten to the foot of the _Vendôme_ column, and inthought at least kneel down before the monument that immortalized therenown and grandeur of the emperor. Hortense remained behind, in orderto perform a sacred duty, imposed on her, as she believed, by her ownhonor and dignity. 

She was not willing to sojourn secretly, like a fugitive criminal, inthe city that in the exercise of its free will had chosen itself a king, but not a Bonaparte. She was not willing to partake of Frenchhospitality and enjoy French protection by stealth; she was not willingto go about in disguise, deceiving the government with a false pass anda borrowed name. She had the courage of truth and sincerity, and sheresolved to say to the King of France that she had come, not to defy hisdecree of banishment by her presence, not for the purpose of intriguingagainst his new crown, by arousing the Bonapartists from their sleep offorgetfulness by her appearance, but solely because there was no othermeans of saving her son; because she must pass through France with himin order to reach England. 

Revolution, which so strangely intermingles the destinies of men, hadsurrounded the new king almost entirely with the friends and servantsof the emperor and of the Duchess of St. Leu. But, in order not toexcite suspicion against these, Hortense now addressed herself to himwith whom she had the slightest acquaintance and whose devotion to theOrleans family was too well known to be called in doubt by herundertaking. Hortense therefore addressed herself to M. De Houdetot, theadjutant of the king, or rather, she caused her friend Mlle. De Massuyerto write to him. She was instructed to inform the count that she hadcome to Paris with an English family, and was the bearer of a commissionfrom the Duchess of St. Leu to M. De Houdetot. 

M. De Houdetot responded to her request, and came to the _Hôtel deHollande_ to see Mlle. Massuyer. With surprise and emotion, herecognized in the supposititious English lady the Duchess of St. Leu, who was believed by all the world to be on the way to Malta, and forwhom her friends (who feared the fatigue of so long a journey would betoo much for Hortense in her weak state of health) had already takensteps to obtain for her permission to pass through France on her wayto England. 

Hortense informed Count Houdetot of the last strokes of destiny that hadfallen upon her, and expressed her desire to see the king, in order tospeak with him in person about the future of her son. 

M. De Houdetot undertook to acquaint the king with her desire, and cameon the following day to inform the duchess of the result of his mission. He told the duchess that the king had loudly lamented her boldness incoming to France, and the impossibility of his seeing her. He told her, moreover, that, as the king had a responsible ministry at his side, hehad been compelled to inform the premier of her arrival, and thatMinister Casimir Perrier would call on her during the day. 

A few hours later, Louis Philippe's celebrated minister arrived. He camewith an air of earnest severity, as it were to sit in judgment upon theaccused duchess, but her artless sincerity and her gentle dignitydisarmed him, and soon caused him to assume a more delicate andpolite bearing. 

"I well know, " said Hortense in the course of the conversation, "I wellknow that I have broken a law, by coming hither; I fully appreciate thegravity of this offence; you have the right to cause me to be arrested, and it would be perfectly just in you to do so!"--Casimir Perrier shookhis head slowly, and replied: "Just, no! Lawful, yes[63]!"

[Footnote 63: La Reine Hortense: Voyage en Italie, etc. , p. 110. ]

CHAPTER VIII. 

LOUIS PHILIIPE AND THE DUCHESS OF ST. LEU. 

The visit which Casimir Perrier had paid the duchess seemed to haveconvinced him that the fears which the king and his ministry hadentertained had really been groundless, that the step-daughter ofNapoleon had not come to Paris to conspire and to claim the stillsomewhat unstable throne of France for the Duke de Reichstadt or forLouis Napoleon, but that she had only chosen the way through France, inthe anxiety of maternal love in order to rescue her son. 

In accordance with this conviction, Louis Philippe no longer consideredit impossible to see the Duchess of St. Leu, but now requested her tocall. Perhaps the king, who had so fine a memory for figures andmoney-matters, remembered that it had been Hortense (then still Queen ofHolland) who, during the hundred days of the empire in 1815, hadprocured for the Duchess Orleans-Penthièvre, from the emperor, permission to remain in Paris and a pension of two hundred thousandfrancs per annum; that it had been Hortense who had done the same forthe aunt of the present king, the Duchess of Orleans-Bourbon. Then, intheir joy over an assured and brilliant future, these ladies had writtenthe duchess the most affectionate and devoted letters; then they hadassured Hortense of their eternal and imperishable gratitude[64]. Perhaps Louis Philippe remembered this, and was desirous of rewardingHortense for her services to his mother and his aunt. 

[Footnote 64: La Reine Hortense: Voyage en Italie, etc. , p. 185. ]

He solicited a visit from Hortense, and, on the second day of hersojourn in Paris, M. De Houdetot conducted the Duchess of St. Leu to theTuileries, in which she had once lived as a young girl, as thestep-daughter of the emperor; then as Queen of Holland, as the wife ofthe emperor's brother; and which she now beheld once more, a poor, nameless pilgrim, a fugitive with shrouded countenance, imploring alittle toleration and protection of those to whom she had once accordedtoleration and protection. 

Louis Philippe received the Duchess of St. Leu with all the elegance andgraciousness which the "Citizen King" so well knew how to assume, andthat had always been an inheritance of his house, with all theamiability and apparent open-heartedness beneath which he so well knewhow to conceal his real disposition. Coming to the point at once, hespoke of that which doubtlessly interested the duchess most, of thedecree of banishment. 

"I am familiar, " said the king, "with all the pains of exile, and it isnot my fault that yours have not been alleviated. " He assured her thatthis decree of banishment against the Bonaparte family was a heavyburden on his heart; he went so far as to excuse himself for it bysaying that the exile pronounced against the imperial family was only anarticle of the same law which the conventionists had abolished, and therenewal of which had been so vehemently demanded by the country! Thus ithad seemed as though he had uttered a new decree of banishment, while inpoint of fact he had only renewed a law that had already existed underthe consulate of Napoleon. "But, " continued the king with exultation, "the time is no longer distant when there will be no more exiles; I willhave none under my government!"

Then, as if to remind the duchess that there had been exiles anddecrees of banishment at all times, also under the republic, theconsulate, and the kingdom, he spoke of his own exile, of the needy andhumiliating situation in which he had found himself, and which hadcompelled him to hire himself out as a teacher and give instruction fora paltry consideration. 

The duchess had listened to the king with a gentle smile, and repliedthat she knew the story of his exile, and that it did him honor. 

Then the duchess informed the king that her son had accompanied her onher journey, and was now with her in Paris; she also told him that herson, in his glowing enthusiasm for his country, had written to the king, begging that he might be permitted to enter the army. 

"Lend me the letter, " replied Louis Philippe; "Perrier shall bring it tome, and, if circumstances permit, I shall be perfectly willing to grantyour son's request; and it will also give me great pleasure to serve youat all times. I know that you have legitimate claims on the government, and that you have appealed to the justice of all former ministries invain. Write out a statement of all that France owes you, and send it _tome alone_. I understand business matters, and constitute myself fromthis time on your _chargé d'affaires_[65]. The Duke of Rovigo, " hecontinued, "has informed me that the other members of the imperialfamily have similar claims. It will afford me great pleasure to be ofassistance to all of you, and I shall interest myself particularly forthe Princess de Montfort[66]. "

[Footnote 65: The king's own words. See Voyage en Italie, etc. , p. 201. ]

[Footnote 66: The Princess de Montfort was the wife of Jerome, thesister of the King of Würtemberg, and a cousin of the Emperorof Russia. ]

Hortense had listened to the king, her whole face radiant with delight. The king's beneficent countenance, his friendly smile, his hearty andcordial manner, dispelled all doubt of his sincerity in Hortense's mind. She believed in his goodness and in his kindly disposition towardherself; and, in her joyous emotion, she thanked him with words ofenthusiasm for his promised benefits, never doubting that it was hisintention to keep his word. 

"Ah, sire!" she exclaimed, "the entire imperial family is in misfortune, and you will have many wrongs to redress. France owes us all a greatdeal, and it will be worthy of you to liquidate these debts. "

The king declared his readiness to do every thing. He who was so fond oftaking in millions and of speculating, smilingly promised, in the nameof France, to disburse millions, and to pay off the old state debt!

The duchess believed him. She believed in his protestations offriendship, and in his blunt sincerity. She allowed him to conduct herto his wife, the queen, and was received by her and Madame Adelaide withthe same cordiality the king had shown. Once only in the course of theconversation did Madame Adelaide forget her cordial disposition. Sheasked the duchess how long she expected to remain in Paris, and when thelatter replied that she intended remaining three days longer, Madameexclaimed, in a tone of anxious dismay: "So long! Three days still! Andthere are so many Englishmen here who have seen your son in Italy, andmight recognize you here!"

But Fate itself seemed to delay the departure of the duchess and herson. On returning home from her visit to the Tuileries, she found herson on his bed in a violent fever, and the physician who had been calledin declared that he was suffering from inflammation of the throat. 

Hortense was to tremble once more for the life of a son, and this sonwas the last treasure Fate had left her. 

Once more the mother sat at the bedside of her son, watching over him, lovingly, day and night. That her son's life might be preserved was nowher only wish, her only prayer; all else became void of interest, andwas lost sight of. She only left her son's side when Casimir Perriercame, as he was in the habit of doing daily, to inquire after her son'scondition in the name of the king, and to request the duchess to namethe amount of her claims against France, and to impart to him all herwishes with regard to her future. Hortense now had but one ardentwish--the recovery of her son; and her only request was, that she mightbe permitted to visit the French baths of the Pyrenees during thesummer, in order to restore her failing health. 

The minister promised to procure this permission of the king, and of theChambers, that were soon to be convened. "In this way we shall graduallybecome accustomed to your presence, " observed Casimir Perrier. "As faras you are personally concerned, we shall be inclined to throw open thegates of the country to you. But with your son it is different, his namewill be a perpetual obstacle in his way. If he should really desire atany time to take service in the army, it would be, above all, necessarythat he should lay aside his name. We are in duty bound to consider thewishes of foreign governments: France is divided into so many parties, that a war could only be ruinous, and therefore your son must change hisname, if--"

But now the duchess, her cheeks glowing, blushing with displeasure andanger, interrupted him. "What!" exclaimed she, "lay aside the noble namewith which France may well adorn itself, conceal it as though we hadcause to be ashamed of it?"

Beside herself with anger, regardless, in her agitation, even of thesuffering condition of her son, she hastened to his bedside, to informhim of the proposition made to her by Louis Philippe's minister. 

The prince arose in his couch, his eyes flaming, and his cheeks burningat the same time with the fever-heat of disease and of anger. 

"Lay aside my name!" he exclaimed. "Who dares to make such a propositionto me? Let us think of all these things no more, mother. Let us go backto our retirement. Ah, you were right, mother: our time is passed, or ithas not yet come!"

CHAPTER IX. 

THE DEPARTURE OF THE DUCHESS FROM PARIS. 

Excitement had made the patient worse, and caused his fever to returnwith renewed violence. Hortense was now inseparable from his bedside;she herself applied ice to his burning throat, and assisted in applyingthe leeches ordered by the physician. But this continuous anxiety andexcitement, all these troubles of the present, and sad remembrances ofthe past, had at last exhausted the strength of the delicate woman; theflush of fever now began to show itself on her cheeks also, and thephysician urged her to take daily exercise in the open air if shedesired to avoid falling ill. 

Hortense followed his advice. In the evening twilight, in plain attire, her face concealed by a heavy black veil, she now daily quitted herson's bedside, and went out into the street for a walk, accompanied bythe young Marquis Zappi. No one recognized her, no one greeted her, noone dreamed that the veiled figure that walked so quietly and shyly wasshe who, as Queen of Holland, had formerly driven through these samestreets in gilded coaches, hailed by the joyous shouts of the people. 

But, in these wanderings through Paris, Hortense also lived in hermemories only. She showed the marquis the dwelling she had onceoccupied, and which had for her a single happy association: her sons hadbeen born there. With a soft smile she looked up at the proud _façade_of this building, the windows of which were brilliantly illumined, andin whose parlors some banker or ennobled provision-dealer was nowperhaps giving a ball; pointing to these windows with her slender whitehand, she said: "I wished to see this house, in order to reproach myselffor having been unhappy in it; yes, I then dared to complain even in themidst of so much splendor; I was so far from dreaming of the weight ofthe misfortune that was one day to come upon me[67]. "

[Footnote 67: The duchess's own words: see Voyage, etc. , p. 225. ]

She looked down again and passed on, to seek the houses of severalfriends, of whom she knew that they had remained faithful; heavilyveiled and enveloped in her dark cloak she stood in front of thesehouses, not daring to acquaint her friends with her presence, contentedwith the sweet sense of being near them!

When, after having strengthened her heart with the consciousness ofbeing near friends, she passed on through the streets, in which she, thedaughter of France, was now unknown, homeless, and forgotten!--no, notforgotten!--as she chanced to glance in at a store she was just passing, she saw in the lighted window her own portrait at the side of that ofthe emperor. 

Overcome by a sweet emotion, Hortense stood still and gazed at thesepictures. The laughing, noisy crowd on the sidewalk passed on, heedlessof the shrouded woman who stood there before the shop-window, gazingwith tearful eyes at her own portrait. "It seems we are stillremembered, " whispered she, in a low voice. "Those who wear crowns arenot to be envied, and should not lament their loss; but is it possiblethat the love of the people, to receive which is so sweet, has not yetbeen wholly withdrawn from us?"

The profound indifference with which France had accepted the exile ofthe Bonapartes had grieved her deeply. She had only longed for sometoken of love and fidelity in order that she might go back into exileconsoled and strengthened. And now she found it. France proved to herthrough these portraits that she was not forgotten. 

Hortense stepped with her companion into the store to purchase theportraits of herself and of the emperor; and when she was told thatthese portraits were in great demand, and that many of them were sold tothe people, she hardly found strength to repress the tears of blissfulemotion that rose from her heart to her eyes. She took the portraits andhastened home, to show them to her son and to bring to him with them thelove-greetings of France. While the duchess, her thoughts dividedbetween the remembrances of the past and the cares and troubles of thepresent, had been sojourning in Paris for twelve days, all the paperswere extolling the heroism of the duchess in having saved her son, andof her having embarked at Malta in order to take him to England. 

Even the king's ministerial council occupied itself with this matter, and thought it proper to make representations to his majesty on thesubject. Marshal Sebastiani informed the king that the Duchess of St. Leu, to his certain knowledge, had landed at Corfu. With livelyinterest he spoke of the fatiguing journey at sea that the duchess wouldbe compelled to make, and asked almost timidly if she might not bepermitted to travel through France. 

The king's countenance assumed an almost sombre look, and he replied, dryly: "Let her continue her journey. " Casimir Perrier bowed his headover the paper that lay before him, in order to conceal his mirth, andminister Barthe availed himself of the opportunity to give a proof ofhis eloquence and of his severity, by observing that a law existedagainst the duchess, and that a law was a sacred thing that no oneshould be permitted to evade. 

But the presence of the duchess, although kept a secret, began to causethe king and his premier Casimir Perrier more and more uneasiness. Thelatter had already once informed her through M. De Houdetot that herdeparture was absolutely necessary and must take place at once, and hehad only been moved to consent to her further sojourn by the conditionof the prince, whose inflammation of the throat had rendered a secondapplication of leeches necessary. 

They were now, however, on the eve of a great and dangerous day, of the5th of May[68]. The people of Paris were strangely moved, and the newgovernment saw with much apprehension the dawn of this day of such greatmemories for France. There seemed to be some justification for thisapprehension. Since the break of day, thousands of people had flocked tothe column on the _Place Vendôme_. Silently and gravely they approachedthe monument, in order to adorn with wreaths of flowers the eagles, orto lay them at the foot of the column, and then to retire mournfully. 

[Footnote 68: The anniversary of Napoleon's death. ]

Hortense stood at the window of her apartment, looking on with foldedhands and tears of bliss at the impressive and solemn scene that wastaking place on the _Place Vendôme_ beneath, when suddenly a violentknocking was heard at her door, and M. De Houdetot rushed in, a pale andsorrowful expression on his countenance. 

"Duchess, " said he breathlessly, "you must depart immediately, withoutan hour's delay! I am ordered to inform you of this. Unless the life ofyour son is to be seriously endangered, you must leave at once!"

Hortense listened to him tranquilly. She almost pitied the king--thegovernment--to whom a weak woman and an invalid youth could cause suchfear. How great must this fear be, when it caused them to disregard allthe laws of hospitality and of decency! What had she done to justifythis fear? She had not addressed herself to the people of France, inorder to obtain help and protection for her son--for the nephew of theemperor; cautiously and timidly she had concealed herself from thepeople, and, far from being disposed to arouse or agitate her country, she had only made herself known to the King of France in order tosolicit protection and toleration at his hands. 

She was distrusted, in spite of this candor; and her presence, althoughknown to no one, awakened apprehensions in those in authority. Hortensepitied them; not a word of complaint or regret escaped her lips. Shesent for her physician at once; and, after informing him that she mustnecessarily depart for London, she asked him if such a journey wouldendanger her son's life. The physician declared that, while he couldhave desired a few days more of repose, the prince would nevertheless, with proper care and attention, be able to leave on the following day. 

"Inform the king that I shall depart to-morrow, " said Hortense; and, while M. De Houdetot was hastening to the king with this welcomeintelligence, the duchess was making preparations for the journey, whichshe began with her son early on the following morning. 

In four days they reached Calais, where they found the ship that was toconvey them to England in readiness to sail. Hortense was to leave hercountry once more as a fugitive and exile! She was once more driven out, and condemned to live in a foreign country! Because the French peoplestill refused to forget their emperor, the French kings hated and fearedthe imperial family. Under the old Bourbons, they had been hated; LouisPhilippe, who had attained his crown through the people, felt that itwas necessary to flatter the people, and show some consideration fortheir sympathies. He declared to the people that he entertained the mostprofound admiration for their great emperor, and yet he issued a decreeof banishment against the Bonapartes; he ordered that the _Vendôme_column, with its bronze statue of the emperor, should be adorned, and atthe same time his decree banished the daughter and the nephew of theemperor from France, and drove them back into a foreign country. 

Hortense went, but she felt, in the pain it caused her, that she wasleaving her country--the country in which she had friends whom she hadnot seen again; the country in which lay her mother's grave, which shehad not dared to visit; and, finally, the grave of her son! She oncemore left behind her all the remembrances of her youth--all the placesshe had loved; and her regret and her tears made known how dear thesethings still were to her; that the banished and homeless one was stillpowerless to banish the love of country from her heart, and that Francewas still her home!

CHAPTER X. 

PILGRIMAGE THROUGH FRANCE. 

The sojourn of the Duchess of St. Leu in England where she arrived withher son after a stormy passage, was for both a succession of triumphsand ovations. The high aristocracy of London heaped upon her proofs ofesteem, of reverence, and of love; every one seemed anxious to atone forthe severity and cruelty with which England had treated the emperor, bygiving proofs of their admiration and respect for his step-daughter. Allthese proud English aristocrats seemed desirous of proving to theduchess and her son that they were not of the same disposition as HudsonLowe, who had slowly tormented the chained lion to death with pettyannoyances. 

The Duchess of Bedford, Lord and Lady Holland, and Lady Grey, inparticular, were untiring in their efforts to do the honors of theircountry to Hortense, and to show her every possible attention. ButHortense declined their proffered invitations. She avoided allpublicity; she feared, on her own and her son's account, that the tattleof the world and the newspapers might once more draw down upon her thedistrust and ill-will of the French government. She feared that thismight prevent her returning with her son, through France, to her quietretreat on the Lake of Constance, in Switzerland, to her charmingArenenberg, where she had passed so many delightful and peaceful yearsof repose and remembrance. 

Hortense was right. Her sojourn in England excited, as soon as it becameknown, in every quarter, care, curiosity, and disquiet. All parties wereseeking to divine the duchess's intention in residing in London. Allparties were convinced that she entertained plans that might endangerand frustrate their own. The Duchess de Berri, who resided in Bath, hadcome to London as soon as she heard of the arrival of the Duchess of St. Leu, in order to inquire into Hortense's real intention. The bold andenterprising Duchess de Berri was preparing to go to France, in orderto call the people to arms for herself and son, to hurl Louis Philippefrom his usurped throne, and to restore to her son his rightfulinheritance. They, therefore, thought it perfectly natural that Hortenseshould entertain similar plans for her son; that she, too, shouldpurpose the overthrow of the French king in order to place her own son, or the son of the emperor, the Duke de Reichstadt, on the throne. 

On the other hand, it had been endeavored to persuade Prince Leopold, ofCoburg, to whom the powers of Europe had just offered the crown ofBelgium, that the Duchess of St. Leu had come to England in order topossess herself of Belgium by a _coup d'état_, and to proclaim LouisNapoleon its king. But this wise and magnanimous prince laughed at theseintimations. He had known the duchess in her days of magnificence, andhe now hastened to lay the same homage at the foot of the homeless womanthat he had once devoted to the adored and powerful Queen of Holland. Hecalled on the duchess, conversed with her of her beautiful and brilliantpast, and told her of the hopes which he himself entertained for thefuture. Deeply bowed down by the death of his beloved wife, PrincessCharlotte of England, it was his purpose to seek consolation in hismisfortune by striving to make his people happy. He had thereforeaccepted the crown tendered him by the people, and was on the point ofdeparting for Belgium. 

While taking leave of the duchess, after a long and cordialconversation, he remarked, with a gentle smile: "I trust you will nottake my kingdom away from me on your journey through Belgium?"

While the new government of France, as well as the exiled Bourbons, suspected the Duchess of St. Leu and her son of entertaining plans forthe subversion of the French throne, the imperialists and republicanswere hoping that Hortense's influence might be exerted upon thedestinies of France. Everywhere in France as well as in England, thepeople were of the opinion that the new throne of Louis Philippe had novitality, because it had no support in the heart of the people. Thepartisans of the Bourbons believed that France longed for the grandsonof St. Louis, for its hereditary king, Henry V. ; the imperialists wereconvinced that the new government was about to be overthrown, and thatFrance was more anxious than ever to see the emperors son, Napoleon II. , restored. The republicans, however, distrusted the people and the army, and began to perceive that they could only attain the longed-forrepublican institutions under a Bonaparte. They therefore sent theirsecret emissaries as well to the Duke de Reichstadt as toLouis Napoleon. 

The Duke de Reichstadt, to whom these emissaries proposed that he shouldcome to France and present himself to the people, replied: "I cannot goto France as an adventurer; let the nation call me, and I shall findmeans to get there. "

To the propositions made to him, Louis Napoleon replied that he belongedto France under all circumstances; that he had proved this by askingpermission to serve France, but he had been rejected. It would notbecome him to force to a decision by a _coup d'état_ the nation whosedecrees he would ever hold sacred. 

Hortense regarded these efforts of the imperialists and of therepublicans to win her son to their purposes with a sorrowful andanxious heart. She hoped and longed for nothing more than the privilegeof living in retirement with her memories; she felt exhausted andsobered by the few steps she had already taken into the great world;she, who had ever felt the most tender sympathy for the misfortunes ofothers, and the most ardent desire to alleviate them--she had nowherefound in her misfortune any thing but injustice, indifference, and calumny. 

Hortense longed to be back at Arenenberg, in her Swiss mountains. Thither she desired to return with her son, in order that she mightthere dream with him of the brilliant days that had been, and sing withhim the exalted song of her remembrances! If the French governmentshould permit her to journey with her son through France, she couldeasily and securely reach the Swiss Canton of Thurgau, where her littleestate, Arenenberg, lay under the protection of the republic; thedaughter of the emperor would there be certain to find peace and repose!

The duchess there wrote to M. De Houdetot, begging him to procure forher from the French government a passport, permitting her to travelthrough France under some assumed name. It was promised her after longhesitation, but under the condition that she should not commence herjourney until after July, until after the first anniversary of thecoronation of Louis Philippe. 

Hortense agreed to this, and received on the first of August a passport, which permitted her, as Madame Arenenberg, to pass through France withher son in order to return to her estate in Switzerland. 

It was at first the duchess's intention, notwithstanding the unquietmovements that were taking place in the capital, to journey throughParis, for the very purpose of proving, by her quiet and uninteresteddemeanor, that she had no share whatever in these movements and riots. 

But, on informing Louis Napoleon of her intention, he exclaimed, withsparkling eyes: "If we go to Paris, and if I should see the peoplesabred before my eyes, I shall not be able to resist the inclination toplace myself on its side[69]!"

[Footnote 69: La Reine Hortense, p. 276. ]

Hortense clasped her son anxiously in her arms, as if to protect himfrom all danger, on her maternal heart. "We shall not go to Paris, " saidshe, "we will wander through France, and pray before the monuments ofour happiness!"

On the 7th of August the Duchess of St. Leu left England with her son, Louis Napoleon, and landed after a pleasant passage at Boulogne. 

Boulogne was for Hortense the first monument of her happiness, at thefoot of which she wished to pray! There, during the most brilliantperiod of the empire, she had attended the military _fêtes_, in themidst of which the emperor was preparing to go forth to encounter newdangers, and to reap, perhaps, new renown. A high column designated theplace where these camp-festivals had once taken place. It had beenerected under the empire, but under the restoration the name of LouisXVIII. Had been inscribed on it. 

Accompanied by the prince, the Duchess of St. Leu ascended this column, in order to show him from its summit the beautiful and flourishingFrance, that had once been her own and through which they must now passwith veiled countenances and borrowed names. From there she pointed outto him the situation of the different camps, the location of theimperial tent, then the place where the emperor's throne had stood, andwhere he had first distributed crosses of the legion of honor amongthe soldiers. 

With a glowing countenance and in breathless attention, Louis Napoleonlistened to his mother's narrative. Hortense, lost in her recollections, had not noticed that two other visitors, a lady and a gentleman, werenow also on the platform and had listened to a part of her narrative. Asthe duchess ceased speaking, they approached to tell her with what deepinterest they had listened to her narrative of the most glorious periodof French history. They were a young married couple from Paris, and hadmuch to relate concerning the parties who were now arrayed against eachother in France, and who made the future of the country so uncertain. 

In return for Hortense's so eloquent description of the past, they nowtold her of a _bon mot_ of the present that was going the rounds ofParisian society. It was there said that the best means of satisfyingeverybody and all parties would be, to convert France into a republicand to give it three consuls, the Duke of Reichstadt, the Duke ofOrleans, and the Duke of Bordeaux. "But, " added they, "it might easilyend in the first consul's driving out the other two, and makinghimself emperor. "

Hortense found the courage to answer this jest with a smile, but shehastened to leave the place and to get away from the couple, who hadperhaps recognized her, and told them of the _bon mot_ with a purpose. 

Sadly and silently, mother and son returned to their hotel, which wassituated on the sea-side, and commanded a fine view of the surging, foaming waters of the channel and of the lofty column of the empire. 

They both stepped out on the balcony. It was a beautiful evening; thesetting sun shed its purple rays over the surface of the sea. Murmuringand in melodious _tace_ the foaming waves rolled in upon the beach; onanother side, the lofty column, glowing in the light of the setting sun, towered aloft like a pillar of fire, a memorial monument of fire!

Hortense, who for some time had been silently gazing, first at thecolumn, then at the sea, now turned with a sad smile to her son. 

"Let us spend an hour with recollections of the past, " said she. "In thepresence of this foaming sea and of this proud column, I will show youa picture of the past. Do you wish to see it?"

His gaze fastened on the imperial column, Louis Napoleon silently noddedassent. 

Hortense went to her room, and soon returned to the balcony with a book, bound in red velvet. Often, during the quiet days of Arenenberg, theprince had seen her writing in this book, but never had Hortense yieldedto his entreaties and permitted him to read any part of her memoirs. Unsolicited it was her intention to unfold before him to-day a brilliantpicture; in view of the sad and desolate present, she wished to portrayto him the bright and glittering past, perhaps only for the purpose ofentertaining him, perhaps in order to console him with the hope that allthat is passes away, and that the present would therefore also come toan end, and that which once was, again become reality for him, the heirof the emperor. 

She seated herself at her son's side, on a little sofa that stood on thebalcony, and, opening her book, began to read. 

CHAPTER XI. 

FRAGMENT FROM THE MEMOIRS OF QUEEN HORTENSE. 

"The emperor had returned from Italy. The beautiful ceremony of thedistribution of the crosses of the Legion of Honor had taken placebefore his departure, and I had been present on the occasion; theemperor now repaired to Boulogne, in order to make a seconddistribution of the order in the army on his birthday. He had made myhusband general of the army of the reserve, and sent him a courier, withthe request that he should come with me and our son to the camp atBoulogne. My husband did not wish to interrupt the baths he was takingat St. Amand, but he requested me to go to Boulogne, to spend a weekwith the emperor. 

"The emperor resided at Boulogne in a little villa called _Pont deBrigue_. His sister, Caroline, and Murat, lived in another little villanear by. I lived with them, and every day we went to dine with theemperor. During two years, our troops had been concentrating in fullview of England, and every one expected an attack. The camp at Boulognewas erected on the sea-side, and resembled a long and regularly-builtcity. Each hut had a little garden, flowers, and birds. In the middle ofthe camp, on an elevation, stood the emperor's tent; near by, that ofMarshal Berthier. All the men-of-war on the water were drawn up in aline, only waiting the signal of departure. In the distance we could seeEngland, and its beautiful ships that were cruising along the coastseemed to form an impenetrable barrier. This grand spectacle gave us forthe first time an illustration of an unknown, hitherto not-dreamed-ofpower that stood opposed to us. Here every thing was calculated toexcite the imagination. This boundless sea might soon transform itselfinto a battle-field, and swallow up the _élite_ of the two greatestnations. Our troops, proud in the feeling that there were no obstaclesfor them, made impatient by two years' repose, glowing with energy andbravery, already imagined themselves to have attained the oppositecoast. When one considered their bravery and confidence, success seemedcertain; but when the eye turned to the impenetrable forest of masts onthe hostile ships, a feeling of anxiety and fear suddenly tookpossession of the heart. And yet nothing seemed to be wanting to theexpedition but a favorable wind. 

"Of all the homage that a woman can receive, military homage has in thehighest degree the chivalrous character, and it is impossible not tofeel flattered by it. 

"There could not be any thing more delightful or imposing than thehomage of which I was here the object, and it was only here that it madeany impression on me. 

"The emperor gave me as an escort his equerry, General Defrance. Whenever I approached a camp division, the guard was called out andpresented arms. 

"I had interceded for several soldiers who were undergoing punishmentfor breaches of discipline, and was on this account received everywherewith the liveliest enthusiasm. The entire mounted general staff escortedmy carriage, and my approach was everywhere hailed by brilliant music. It was on such an occasion that I saw for the first time the urn which agrenadier wore attached to his belt; I was told that the emperor, inorder to do honor to the memory of the gallant Latour d'Auvergne[70], had caused his heart to be enclosed in a leaden casket, which he hadintrusted to the oldest soldier of the regiment, commanding that hisname should always be called at the roll-call, as though he werepresent. He who bore the heart replied: 'Dead on the field of honor. '

[Footnote 70: Latour d'Auvergne, a descendant of the celebrated Turenne, was known and honored throughout the whole army on account of thelion-hearted courage which he had exhibited on so many occasions. As heinvariably declined the many advancements and honors that were tenderedhim, Napoleon appointed him first grenadier of the army. He fell in theaction at Neuburg, and the Viceroy of Italy, Eugene Beauharnais, afterward caused a monument to be erected there in his memory. ]

"One day, a breakfast was given me at the camp of Ambleteuse. I desiredto go by water, and, notwithstanding a contrary wind, the admiral tookme. I saw the English ships, and we passed so near them, that they mighteasily have captured our yacht. I also visited the Dutch fleet commandedby Admiral Versuelt, where I was received with great applause, thesailors little dreaming that I would be their queen within the space ofa year[71]. 

[Footnote 71: In order to reach the harbor of Ambleteuse to which theyhad been assigned, the Dutch had first been compelled to do battle withthe English fleet, and in this combat they had acquitted themselves withthe greatest honor. ]

"On another occasion, the emperor ordered a review. The English, whofelt disquieted, by the appearance of so many troops drawn up beforethem, approached nearer and nearer to our coasts, and even fired a fewcannon-shots at us; the emperor was at the head of his French columnswhen they replied to these shots, and was thus placed between two fires. As we had followed him, we were now compelled to remain at his side. Tohis uncle's great joy, my son exhibited no symptom of fear whatever. Butthe generals trembled at seeing the emperor exposed to such danger. Theramrod of some awkward soldier might prove as dangerous as a ball. Inthe midst of this imposing spectacle, I was struck with astonishment atthe contrast presented by the troops under different circumstances. Whendrawn up in line of battle, they glowed with gallantry anddetermination, but, in the days of repose, they resembled well-behavedchildren, who could amuse themselves with a flower or a bird. The mostdaring warrior was then often converted into the most diligent andsubmissive scholar. 

"For the breakfast which Marshal Davoust gave me in his tent, thegrenadiers had been preparing to entertain us with several songs, andcame forward to sing them with the bashfulness of young girls. In themost embarrassed and timid manner, they sang a song full of the fiercestand most daring threats against England. 

"From the emperor's parlor we often saw the soldiers of his guardassemble on the grass-plot before the castle; one of them would play theviolin and instruct his comrades in dancing. The beginners would studythe '_jétés_' and '_assemblés_' with the closest attention; the moreadvanced ones would execute a whole contredance. From behind thewindow-blinds we watched them with the greatest pleasure. The emperor, who often surprised us at this occupation, would laugh with us andrejoice at the innocent amusements of his soldiers. 

"Was this project of a landing in England really intended? Or was itthe emperor's purpose by these enormous preparations to divert attentionfrom other points, and fix it on this one only? Even to-day this is aquestion which I cannot venture to decide; here, as elsewhere, I onlyreport what I have seen. 

"Madame Ney also gave me a brilliant festival at Montreuil, where herhusband the marshal was in command. During the forenoon the troops weremanoeuvred before me, in the evening a ball took place. But this wassuddenly interrupted by the intelligence that the emperor hadjust embarked. 

"A number of young officers, who had been present at the ball, rushedout on the road to Boulogne; I followed them with the rapidity oflightning, escorted as usual by General Defrance, who burned withimpatience to be again at the emperor's side. I myself felt unutterableemotion at the prospect of witnessing so great an occurrence. I imaginedmyself observing the battle from the summit of the tower that stood nearthe emperor's tent; beholding our fleet advance and sink down into thewaves, I shuddered in anticipation. 

"At last I arrived. I inquired after the emperor, and learned that hehad actually attended the embarkation of all his troops during thenight, but that he had just returned to his villa. 

"I did not see him until dinner, at which he asked Prince Joseph, whowas then colonel of a regiment, whether he had believed in thispretended embarkation, and what effect it had had on the soldiers. Joseph said that he, like all the world, had believed that a departurewas really intended, and that the soldiers had doubted it so little thatthey had sold their watches. The emperor also often asked if thetelegraph had not yet announced the approach of the French squadron; hisadjutant, Lauriston, was with the squadron, and the emperor seemed onlyto be awaiting Lauriston's arrival and a favorable wind, in order toset sail. 

"The eight days' absence accorded me by my husband had expired, and Itook leave of the emperor. I journeyed through Calais and Dunkirk. I sawtroops defiling before me everywhere; and with regret and fear I leftthis magnificent army, thinking that they might perhaps in a few days beexposed to the greatest dangers. 

"At St. Amand we were every day expecting to hear of the passage of ourfleet to England, when we suddenly saw the troops arriving in ourneighborhood and passing on in forced marches toward the Rhine. Austriahad broken the peace. We hastened at once to Paris, to see the emperoronce more before his departure for Germany[72]. "

[Footnote 72: La Reine Hortense en Italie, France, etc. , p. 278. ]

CHAPTER XII. 

THE PILGRIM. 

On the following morning the duchess left Boulogne with her son, inorder to wander on with him through the land of her youth and ofher memories. 

It was a sad and yet heart-stirring pilgrimage; for, although banishedand nameless, she was nevertheless in her own country--she still stoodon French soil. For sixteen years she had been living in a foreign land, in a land whose language was unknown to her, and whose people she couldtherefore not understand. Now, on this journey through France, sherejoiced once more in being able to understand the conversation of thepeople in the streets, and of the peasants in the fields. It was asensation of mingled bitterness and sweetness to feel that she was not astranger among this people, and it therefore now afforded her thegreatest delight to chat with those she met, and to listen to their_naïve_ and artless words. 

As soon as she arrived at her hotel in any city or village in which shepurposed enjoying a day's rest, Hortense would walk out into the streetson her son's arm. On one occasion she stepped into a booth, seatedherself, and conversed with the people who came to the store to purchasetheir daily necessaries; on another occasion, she accosted a child onthe street, kissed it, and inquired after its parents; then, again, shewould converse with the peasants in the villages about their farms, andthe prospects of a plentiful harvest. The _naïve_, strong, and healthydisposition of the people delighted her, and, with the smiling pride ofa happy mother, she showed her son this great and beautiful family, thisFrench people, to which they, though banished and cast off, still belonged. 

In Chantilly, she showed the prince the palace of Prince Condé. Theforests that stood in the neighborhood had once belonged to the queen, or rather they had been a portion of the appendage which the emperor, since the union of Holland and France, had set apart for her second son, Louis Napoleon. Hortense had never been in the vicinity, and couldtherefore visit the castle without fear of being recognized. 

They asked the guide, who had shown them the castle and the garden, whohad been the former possessor of the great forests of Chantilly. 

"The step-daughter of the Emperor Napoleon, Queen Hortense, " replied theman, with perfect indifference. "The people continued to speak of herhere for a long time; it was said that she was wandering about in thecountry in disguise, but for the last few years nothing has been heardof her, and I do not know what has become of her. "

"She is surely dead, the poor queen, " said Hortense, with so sad a smilethat her son turned pale, and his eyes filled with tears. 

From Chantilly they wandered on to Ermenonville and Morfontaine, forHortense desired to show her son all the places she had once seen in thedays of fortune with the emperor and her mother. These places now seemedas solitary and deserted as she herself was. How great the splendor thathad once reigned in Ermenonville, when the emperor had visited the ownerof the place in order to enjoy with him the delights of the chase! Inthe walks of the park, in which thousands of lamps had then shone, thegrass now grew rankly; a miserable, leaky boat was now the onlyconveyance to the Poplar Island, sacred to the memory of Jean Jacques, on whose monument Hortense and Louis Napoleon now inscribed their names. Morfontaine appeared still more desolate; the allies had sacked it in1815, and it had not been repaired since then. In Morfontaine, Hortensehad attended a magnificent festival given by Joseph Bonaparte, then itsowner, to his imperial brother. 

In St. Denis there were still more sacred and beautiful remembrances forHortense, for here was situated the great college for the daughters ofhigh military officers, of which Hortense had been the protectress. Shedared not show herself, for she well knew that she was not forgottenhere; here there were many who still knew and loved her, and she couldonly show herself to strangers. But she nevertheless visited the church, and descended with Louis Napoleon into the vaults. Louis XVIII. Alonereposed in the halls which the empire had restored for the reception ofthe new family of rulers, adopted by France. Alas! he who built thesehalls, the Emperor Napoleon, now reposed under a weeping-willow on adesolate island in the midst of the sea, and he who had deposed him nowoccupied the place intended for the sarcophagus of the emperor. 

While wandering through these silent and gloomy halls, Hortense thoughtof the day on which she had come hither with the emperor to inspect thebuilding of the church. And that time she had been ill and suffering, and with the fullest conviction she had said to her mother that she, Queen Hortense, would be the first that would be laid to rest in thevault of St. Denis. Now, after so many years, she descended into itliving and had hardly a right to visit it. 

But there was another grave, another monument to her memories, besidewhich Hortense desired to pray. This was the grave of the EmpressJosephine, in the church at Ruelle. 

With what emotions did she approach this place and kneel down beside thegrave-mound! Of all that Josephine had loved, there remained onlyHortense and her son, a solitary couple, who were now secretly visitingthe place where Hortense's mother reposed. The number of flowers thatadorned the monument proved that Josephine was at least resting in themidst of friends, who still held her memory sacred, and this was aconsolation for her daughter. 

From Ruelle and its consecrated grave they wandered on to Malmaison. Above all, Hortense wished to show this palace to her son! It was fromthis place that Napoleon had departed to leave France forever! HereHortense had had the pleasure of sweetening for him, by her tendersympathy, the moment when all the world had abandoned him--the momentwhen he fell from the heights of renown into the abyss of misfortune. But, alas! the poor queen was not even to have the satisfaction ofshowing to her son the palace, sacred to so many memories that had oncebeen her own! The present owner had given strict orders to giveadmission to the palace only upon presentation of permits that must beobtained of him beforehand, and, as Hortense had none, her entreatieswere all in vain. 

She was cruelly repelled from the threshold of the palace in which informer days she had been so joyfully received by her devoted friendsand servants!

Sorrowfully, her eyes clouded with tears, she turned away and returnedto her hotel, leaning on her son's arm. 

In silence she seated herself at his side on the stone bench that stoodbefore the house, and gazed at the palace in which she had spent suchhappy and momentous days, lost in the recollections of the past!

"It is, perhaps, natural, " she murmured in a low voice, "that absenceshould cause those, who have the happiness to remain in their homes, toforget us. But, for those who are driven out into foreign lands, thelife of the heart stands still, and the past is all to them; to theexiled the present and the future are unimportant. In France every thinghas progressed, every thing is changed, I alone am left behind, with mysentiments of unchangeable love and fidelity! Alas! how sorrowful andpainful it is to be forgotten[73]! How--"

Suddenly she was interrupted by the tones of a piano, that resounded inher immediate vicinity. Behind the bench on which they were sitting, were the windows of the parlor of the hotel. These windows were open, and each tone of the music within could be heard with the greatestdistinctness. 

The playing was now interrupted by a female voice, which said: "Sing usa song, my daughter. "

"What shall I sing?" asked another and more youthful voice. 

"Sing the beautiful, touching song your brother brought you from Parisyesterday. The song of Delphine Gay, set to music by M. De Beauplan. "

"Ah, you mean the song about Queen Hortense, who comes to Paris as apilgrim? You are right, mamma, it is a beautiful and touching song, andI will sing it!"

And the young lady struck the keys more forcibly, and began to play theprelude. 

Outside on the stone bench sat she who was once Queen Hortense, but wasnow the poor, solitary pilgrim. Nothing remained to her of the gloriouspast, but her son, who sat at her side! Hand in hand, both breathlesswith emotion, both pale and tearful, they listened until the young girlconcluded her touching song. 

[Footnote 73: The duchess's own words. See Voyage en Italie, etc. , p. 305. ]

CHAPTER XIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

This sorrowful pilgrimage was at last at an end. Hortense was once morein her mountain-home, in the charming villa overlooking the Lake ofConstance, and commanding a lovely view of the majestic lake, with itsisland and its surrounding cities and villages. 

Honor to the Canton Thurgau, which, when all the world turned its backon the queen upon whom all the governments and destiny alikefrowned--when even her nearest relatives, the Grand-duke and theGrand-duchess Stephanie of Baden, were compelled to forbid her residencein their territory--still had the courage to offer the Duchess of St. Leu an asylum, and to accord her, on the free soil of the littlerepublic, a refuge from which the ill-will and distrust of the mightycould not drive her!

In Arenenberg, Hortense reposed from her weariness. With a bleedingbreast she returned home, her heart wounded by a fearful blow, the lossof a noble and beloved son, broken in spirit, and bowed down by thecoldness and cruelty of the world, which, in the cowardly fear of itsegoism, had become faithless, even to the holiest and most imperishableof all religions, the religion of memory!

How many, who had once vowed love and gratitude, had abandoned her! howmany, whom she had benefited had deserted her in the hour of peril!

In the generosity and kindliness of her heart, she forgave them all;and, instead of nursing a feeling of bitterness, she pitied them! Shehad done with the outer world! Arenenberg was now her world--Arenenberg, in which her last and only happiness, her son, the heir of the imperialname, lived with her--Arenenberg, which was as a temple of memory, inwhich Hortense was the pious and believing priestess. 

At Arenenberg Hortense wrote the sad and touching story of her journeythrough Italy, France, and England, which she undertook, in the heroismof maternal love, in order to rescue her son. The noblest womanhood, themost cultivated mind, the proudest and purest soul, speaks from out thisbook, with which Hortense has erected a monument to herself that is moreimperishable than all the monuments of stone and bronze, for thismonument speaks to the heart--those to the eyes only. Hortense wrotethis book with her heart often interrupted by the tears that dimmed hereyes; she concludes it with a touching appeal to the French people, which it may well be permitted us to repeat here; it is as follows:

"The renewal of the law of exile, and the assimilation made between usand the Bourbons, testify to the sentiments and fears that areentertained respecting us. No friendly voice has been raised in ourbehalf; this indifference has doubled the bitterness of our banishment!May they, however, still be happy--those who forget! May they, aboveall, make France happy! This is my prayer!

"As for the people, it will, if it remembers its glory, its grandeur, and the incessant care of which it was the object, ever hold our memorydear. This is my firm conviction, and this thought is the sweetestconsolation of an exile, the sweetest consolation he can take with himto the grave[74]!"

Hortense still lived a few years of peaceful tranquillity; far from allshe loved--far also from the son who was her last hope, never dreamingthat destiny had so brilliant a future in store for him, and that LouisNapoleon, whom the Bourbons had banished from France as a child, and theOrleans as a youth--that Louis Napoleon would one day be enthroned inParis as emperor, while the Bourbons and Orleans languish in foreignlands as exiles!

In the year 1837, Hortense, the flower of the Bonapartes, died!

Weary, at last, of misfortune, and of the exile in which she languished, she bowed her head, and went home to her great dead--home to Napoleonand Josephine!

[Footnote 74: Voyage en Italie, etc. , p. 324. ]

THE END.