Part 17

A messenger had been sent to carry the news to the Emperor, who was much affected by hearing it. He wrote to Josephine, May 14: "I can well imagine the grief which Napoleon's death, must cause. You can understand what I suffer. I should like to be with you, that you might be moderate and discreet in your grief. You were happy enough never to lose a child, but that is one of the conditions and penalties attached to our human misery. Let me hear that you are calm and well! Do you want to add to my regret? Good by, my dear."

May 17 an imposing ceremony took place in Paris--the carrying of the sword of Frederick the Great to the Tuileries. A triumphal chariot, richly decorated, carried the one hundred and eighty flags captured in the last campaign. Marshal Moncey, on horseback, held the hero's sword. The chariot proceeded to the iron gate of the Invalides, which it was too lofty to pass under. Then the veterans came to take the flags and to carry them into the church. The ceremony began with a song of triumph. Marshal Sérurier, Governor of the Invalides, spoke: "We are here," he said, "to the number of more than nine hundred of those who fought against the great king whose warlike spoils our children have just won. At that time fortune did not always smile upon our valor. The fathers were no less brave than their sons, but they had not the same leader. Yet we can only recall with pride the words of that great man: 'If I were at the head of the French people, not a cannon would be fired in Europe without my permission'-- honorable proof of his esteem for the soldiers who were fighting him. But it was in the reign of a sovereign even greater by his genius, his feats, his moderation, that the French people was to rise to such a height of power and glory. We swear faithfully to guard the treasure which his Imperial and Royal Majesty has entrusted to us." Then the old church echoed with cries of "We swear it!"

At this ceremony, the eloquent President of the Legislative Body, M. de Fontanes, made a fine speech full of enthusiasm for Napoleon, but respectful to the memory of the great Frederick and to the misfortunes of his successor. He closed with a few words on the grief that the death of the Crown Prince must have caused the Emperor: "Perhaps, at this moment," he said, "the hero who has saved us is weeping in his tent at the head of three hundred thousand victorious French, and of all the confederate kings and princes who march under his banner. He weeps, and neither the trophies heaped about him, nor the glory of the twenty sceptres he holds so firmly, which even Charlemagne failed to grasp, can distract his thoughts from the coffin of that boy, whose first steps he aided with his triumphant hands, whose promising intelligence he hoped one day to guide. Let him not forget that his domestic woes have been felt like a public calamity, and may a tender expression of the national interest bring him some slight consolation. All our alarm for the future is a more ardent expression of our homage. May fortune be satisfied with this one victim, and while she always favors the plans of the greatest of monarchs, may she not make him pay for his glory by similar misfortunes!"

Doubtless the death of this young child altered the face of things. If he had lived, it would have been for him, and not his brother, to bear the name of Napoleon III., or possibly even of Napoleon II., and apparently the destiny of the world would have been very different. Kingdoms and empires, on what does their fate depend! May 5 was to be a fatal date; the young Prince died May 5, 1807, and fourteen years later to a day his uncle was to die on the rock of Saint Helena.

XXIII.

THE END OF THE WAR.

The Empress brought her daughter Hortense and her grandson Napoleon Louis, a boy a little over two, back to Paris with her, but she had not long the consolation of their presence; before the end of May Hortense was obliged to leave for Cauterets to repair her shattered health. Her mother wrote to her from Saint Cloud, May 27: "I have wept much since your departure; this separation is very painful for me, and the only thing that could enable me to bear it would be the certainty that you are getting some good from your trip. I have heard of you from Madame de Broc. I beg of you to thank her for this attention and to ask her to write to me when you are unable. I heard news, too, of your son; he is at Laeken, very well, and awaits the King's arrival. The Emperor has written to me again; he shares our sorrow. I needed this consolation, the only one I have received since your departure. I am always alone, every moment recalls our loss, my tears never cease flowing. Good by, my dear daughter, take care of yourself for your mother's sake, who loves you most tenderly."

Napoleon, who forbade his wife and daughter-in-law to be gloomy,--an order more easily given than obeyed,--thought their mourning excessive. His expressions of sympathy were very singular. He wrote from Finkenstein to Queen Hortense, May 20, 1807:--

"MY DAUGHTER: Everything I hear from The Hague tells me you are not reasonable. However legitimate your grief, it should have some bounds. Do not ruin your health; seek some distractions, and remember that life is so full of dangers and evils that death is not the worst thing that can befall one." In his letter of May 24 to the Empress, the Emperor spoke of the unhappy Queen with a severity that amounted to brutality: "Hortense is unreasonable and does not deserve to be loved since she does not love any one but her children. Try to calm her and do not make trouble for me. For every hopeless evil, consolation must be found." He wrote to her again, May 26: "I have your letter of the 16th. I am glad Hortense has gone to Laeken. I am sorry to hear what you say about the sort of stupor she is in. She might show courage and self-control. I can't understand why she should be sent to the baths; she could find more distractions in Paris. Control yourself; be cheerful, and keep well. My health is excellent. Good by. I stare your sufferings, and am sorry not to be with you."

In her bitter grief Hortense lacked courage to write to the Emperor, who was annoyed by her silence. "My dear," he wrote to Josephine, June 2, "I hear that you have arrived at Malmaison. I have no letters from you. I am vexed with Hortense; she has not written me a word. All you tell me about her distresses me. Why could you not distract her a little? You are always in tears! I hope you will show some self-control, that I may not find you sad. I have been for two days at Dantzic; the weather is fine; I am well. I think of you more than you think of an absent man. Good by; much love. Forward to Hortense this letter." This is the severe epistle which Josephine was bidden to send to Hortense:--

"June 2. MY DAUGHTER: You have not written me a word in your great and natural grief. You have forgotten everything, as if you had not still losses to endure. I hear that you love nothing, are indifferent to everything; this is plain from your silence. That is not right, Hortense. It is not what you promised us. Your son was everything for you? Are your mother and I nothing? Had I been at Malmaison I should have shared your sorrow, but I should have wanted you to listen to your best friends. Good by, my daughter; be cheerful; you must be resigned. My wife is much distressed at your condition; do not give her further pain. Your affectionate father."

It is easily seen that such letters were ill adapted to allay the anguish of an inconsolable mother mourning for her child.

Josephine's letters to her daughter showed very different feelings. The kind Empress did her best to persuade her that the Emperor sympathized with her grief. She wrote from Saint Cloud, June 4: "Your letter, my dear Hortense, gives me much consolation, and what I hear from your ladies about your health makes me easier. The Emperor was much distressed, in every letter he tries to give me courage, but I know that this unhappy event was a great blow to him. The King arrived at Saint Len last evening; he has sent me word that he meant to call on me to-day, and he must leave the boy here during his absence. You know how much I love the child, and how careful I shall be of him. I want the King to take the same route as you; it will be a consolation for you both to meet. All his letters since you left are full of love for you. He has too tender a heart not to be touched. Good by, my dear daughter; take care of your health; mine will improve only when I don't have to suffer for those I love." This letter shows all the kindness and gentleness of Josephine's character. She was conciliating and benevolent, and did her best to smooth over Napoleon's blame and to reconcile Hortense with her husband. She wrote again from Saint Cloud, June 11: "Your boy is very well, and amuses me a great deal; he is so gentle; I think he has all the ways of the poor boy we mourn." Josephine understood consolation better than the Emperor.

What could be more touching, more maternal, than this letter from the Empress? "Your letter moved me deeply; I see your grief is ever fresh and I perceive this better by my own sufferings. We have lost what was most worthy to be loved; my tears flow as they did the first day. Those regrets are too natural to be repressed by reason, although it should moderate them. You are not alone in the world. You have left a husband, an interesting child, and you are too tender for that to be strange and indifferent to you. Think of us, my dear daughter, and let this calm your natural sorrow. I rely on your love for me and on your reasonableness. I hope that the trip and the waters will do you good. Your son is very well, and is charming. My health is a little better, but you know it depends on yours. Good by. Many kisses."

The character of this loving mother and grandmother manifests itself in every one of her letters. Her style was simple and affectionate, like herself. Her letters, full of the gentlest, best, and most touching feeling, might make one say, "The style is the woman."

While Josephine and Hortense were weeping, Napoleon was bringing a terrible campaign to a brilliant end. June 15 he thus announced to his wife the great victory of Friedland: "My dear: I write but a word, for I am very tired; I have been bivouacking for several days. My children have been worthily celebrating the battle of Marengo. The battle of Friedland will be quite as famous and glorious for my people. The whole Russian army routed; eighty cannon; thirty thousand men captured or killed; twenty-five Russian generals killed, wounded, or captured; the Russian Guard wiped out; it is a worthy sister of Marengo, Austerlitz, Jena. The bulletin will tell you the rest. My losses are not serious; I succeeded in outmanoeuvring the enemy. Be calm and contented. Good by, my dear, my horse is waiting." The next day he wrote another letter to Josephine: "My dear, yesterday I sent Moustache to you with news of the battle of Friedland. Since then, I have continued to pursue the enemy, Königsberg, a city of eighty thousand inhabitants, Is in my power, I have found there many cannon, stores, and finally sixty thousand muskets just come from England. Good by, my dear, my health is perfect, although I have a cold from the rain and cold of the bivouac. Be cheerful and contented. Ever yours." From Tilsitt Napoleon wrote to his wife, June 19: "I have sent Tascher to you to allay your anxiety. Everything goes on admirably here. The battle of Friedland decided everything. The enemy is confounded, cast down, and extremely enfeebled. My health is excellent, my army superb. Good by; be cheerful and contented." Be cheerful and contented--he was always saying it.

June 25, at one in the afternoon, a great sight was to be seen in the middle of the Niemen. A raft had been placed midstream in plain view from both banks of the river. All the rich stuffs that could be found in the little town of Tilsitt had been taken to make a pavilion on a part of this raft for the reception of the Emperors of France and Russia. From one bank Napoleon embarked with Murat, Berthier, Bessières, Duroc, and Caulaincourt; and from the other, Alexander, with the Grand Duke Constantine, Generals Bennigsen and Ouvaroff, the Prince of Labanoff, and the Count of Lieven. The two armies were drawn up on the two banks, and the country people of the neighborhood were present to watch one of the most memorable interviews known to history. When they reached the raft, the two sovereigns, who had just been fighting so bitterly, and had sent so many thousand men to death, fell into each other's arms with emotion. The same day Napoleon wrote to Josephine: "I have just seen the Emperor Alexander, and am much pleased with him; he is a very fine-looking, good young Emperor; he has more intelligence than is generally supposed. He is going to move into Tilsitt to-morrow. Good by; keep well and be contented. My health is excellent." The two monarchs became very intimate. "My dear," Napoleon wrote to his wife July 3, "M. de Turenne will give you all the details about what is going on here; everything is moving smoothly. I think I told you that the Emperor of Russia drank to your health with great kindness. He and the King of Prussia dine with me every day. I want you to be contented. Good by; much love." And July 6: "I have yours of June 25. I am sorry you are so egoistic, and that my success gives you no pleasure. The beautiful Queen of Prussia is to dine with me to-day. I am well and anxious to see you again when fate permits. Still it will probably be soon."

The Queen of Prussia was one of the most beautiful and most brilliant women of her time. An hour after her arrival at Tilsitt, Napoleon called on her, and that evening, when she came to dine with him, he went to the door of the house in which he lived to receive her with all respect. But in spite of all her efforts to modify the conditions of the peace imposed on Prussia, her gracious and obstinate endeavors were fruitless. Napoleon, July 7, thus described to Josephine the dinner of the evening before to the charming Queen: "My dear, the Queen of Prussia dined with me yesterday. I was obliged to refuse her some concessions she wanted me to make to her husband; but I was polite, and also kept to my plan. She is very amiable. When I see you I will give you all the details which would be too long to write now. When you read this letter, peace will have been concluded with Russia and Prussia, and Jerome will have been recognized as King of Westphalia with a population of three millions. This piece of news is for you alone. Good by, my dear; I want to hear that you are contented and cheerful." The story runs that the Queen of Prussia, who held a beautiful rose in her hand, offered it to Napoleon, saying with a gracious smile: "Take it, Sire, but in exchange for Magdeburg." The hero of Jena made a mistake not to make the exchange. He did too much or too little for the Prussian monarchy. Since he could not or would not wipe it out, he ought to have let it live, and become a friendly power. Who can tell? Perhaps his acceptance of the rose would have warded off many acts of vengeance, many disasters. On such slight things does the world's destiny depend!

Josephine wrote to her daughter from Saint Cloud, July 10: "I often hear from the Emperor, who speaks a great deal about the Emperor Alexander, with whom he seems well satisfied. He sent M. de Monaco and M. de Montesquiou to give me details of all they had seen. They say the first view was a magnificent sight. The two armies were on the two banks of the Niemen. The Emperor was the first to arrive at a raft built in the middle of the river; the Emperor Alexander's boat found some difficulty in approaching, which gave him a chance to speak of his eagerness thwarted by the stream. They tell me that when the two Emperors kissed, wide-spread applause arose from both banks. What most interests me in all this good news is my hope of soon seeing the Emperor again. Why is this happiness troubled by sad memories that can never be destroyed? Your boy is perfectly-well; his complexion has entirely changed. I hope the waters will do both you and the King good; remember me to him, and believe in my constant love."

Before leaving Tilsitt, where he had signed a glorious peace, Napoleon had the bravest soldier of the Russian Guard presented to him, and he gave him the eagle of the Legion of Honor. He gave his portrait to Platou, the hetman of the Cossacks, and some Baschirs gave him a concert after the custom of their country. July 9, at eleven in the morning, wearing the grand cordon of Saint Andrew, he called on the Emperor Alexander, who wore the broad ribbon of the Legion of Honor, The two sovereigns passed three hours together, then mounted their horses, and rode towards the Niemen. Then they got down and embraced for the last time. The Czar then embarked, and Napoleon waited on the river-bank until his new friend had landed on the other shore. He returned to Königsberg and from there to Dresden, whence he wrote to Josephine, July, 18: "My dear, I reached here yesterday afternoon at five, very well, though I had been posting one hundred hours without stopping. I am staying with the King of Saxony, whom I like very much. I have more than half my journey to you behind me. I warn you that I may burst in on you at Saint Cloud one of these nights, like a jealous husband. Good by, my dear; I shall be very glad to see you again. Ever yours." Napoleon spoke of jealousy. The days of the first Italian campaign were very distant. Everything had changed. It was no longer he who had to be jealous of Josephine: it was Josephine who was jealous of him, and with good reason. After an absence of nearly a year, the Emperor reached Saint Cloud, July 27, 1807, at six o'clock in the morning.

XXIV.

THE EMPEROR'S RETURN.

July 28, 1807, the Emperor, who had arrived at Saint Cloud the day before, received the great bodies of the State. It would be hard to form an exact idea of the flatteries addressed to him. Let us quote a few taken at random. M. Séguier, First President of the Court of Appeal, said to the hero of Friedland: "Napoleon is above admiration; only love can rise to him." The Cardinal Archbishop of Paris, speaking in the name of his clergy, was perhaps even more enthusiastic: "The God of armies," he said, "has dictated and directed all your plans; nothing could resist the swiftness of so many wonders.... Have confidence, Sire, in our zeal, and instruct the people in the submission and obedience they owe to all of Your Majesty's decrees and orders." But it was Councillor of State Trochot, Prefect of the Seine, who deserves the prize in this competition of adulation. Here is a fragment of his speech: "Sire, now that at last Paris receives you once more after so long an absence and such prodigious feats, it would gladly express to you all its intense admiration, and yet it can only speak to you of its love. And, indeed, if it tried to contemplate in you the conqueror of so many kings, the law-maker of so many peoples, the controller of so many events, the arbiter of so many destinies, how could it dare to approach Your Majesty, and in what language could it address you? Should it speak to you of triumphs? But can any one but a Caesar himself speak of what Caesar has done? Of glory? but for ten years it has been impossible to speak of all you have won. Of genius? but who can speak of all the marvels yours has wrought, before which we are dumb and confounded. Sire, all these things are beyond us, and since they command admiration, even silence, the silence of astonishment which admiration imposes seems to be our sole manner of expressing it." More had not been said, to Louis XIV., the Sun King.

In allusion to the illuminations in Paris the evening before, the Prefect, of the Seine added: "Why could not you, Sire, have been an eye-witness of the joy which the announcement of Your Majesty's return spread yesterday throughout the capital of your Empire! Why could not you have heard the applause with which your faithful subjects rent the welkin daring the festivity which they gave on this occasion until well into the night!" The Prefect closed by a prophecy, alas! not too accurate: "The august Emperor Napoleon will render war between nations impossible, and the world's happiness will date from his reign."

The hero of Austerlitz, of Jena, of Friedland, then thought nothing impossible. His direct or indirect sway extended from the Straits of Gibraltar to the Vistula, from the mountains of Bohemia to the North Sea. Charlemagne was outstripped. Josephine saw her husband again with joy, but also with anxiety and terror. He returned so infatuated by his wonderful fortune, he was so flattered and deified by his courtiers, in his whole Imperial and royal person there was something so formidable and majestic, that his gentle and timid wife was, as it were, dazzled by the rays of a sun, too brilliant for her to look at.

Josephine had now become afraid to address him as thou, and to call him simply Bonaparte as she had done before. When she spoke to him, she often called him Sire. She did not dare to reproach him with his infidelities at Warsaw or the Castle of Finkenstein, or to show that she noticed his attentions to many ladies of the court, notably to a beautiful Italian woman, a friend of Talleyrand's, who was one of her readers and a prominent object of Napoleon's attentions. She saw rising before her the vision of divorce, the phantom which had haunted her imagination since the expedition to Egypt. Fearful of giving her husband the slightest pretext for discontent or annoyance, she was humbler, more submissive, more obedient than ever.

So long as the oldest son of Louis and Hortense had lived, Josephine felt comparatively secure, because she knew that this boy, a special favorite of Napoleon's, was intended by his uncle to be the heir of his Empire. But his surviving brother, the little Napoleon Louis, born October 11, 1804, did not give the Empress the same confidence. The Emperor was less intimate with this child; he had not played with him as he had done with the other; he had not become attached to him. The little Napoleon Louis was staying with Josephine when the Emperor returned. She did all she could to make him love him.

Moreover, it was not an easy thing to hold the affections of a man like Napoleon. Six years younger than his wife, he was but thirty-eight, and in all the flower and prime of his Caesar-like beauty. He liked to make a conquest of beauties as well as of provinces. The thought of resistance exasperated him. In everything he demanded success, triumph, dominion. The celebration of his birthday, August 15, 1807, which was accompanied with unusual pomp and splendor, was of the nature of a deification. He made Josephine share his triumph, and held her by the hand when he appeared on a balcony of the Tuileries, in the enclosure, amid the applause of the multitude assembled in the gardens.