Hastening to the little house in the rue de la Victoire,—a street that had latterly changed its name in honor of him; and the house in which she had first received him, which he had bought subsequently because of its associations, and which he had declared, after his disillusion in Egypt, that he should always keep,—Josephine found Napoleon locked in his room. Joseph and Lucien had improved their opportunity, and wrung from him a promise to see his wife no more—to secure a divorce. Throwing herself on her knees before the door, Josephine wept and begged for hours, until the door opened; and then, aided by Hortense and Eugène, she sued for pardon. The power she still had over the man was too great for him to resist long. The next morning, when the Bonaparte brothers called, they found a reconciled household.

How complete the reconciliation was they realized when they saw Napoleon paying the $200,000 and more due at Malmaison and settling the debts to servants, merchants, jewelers, caterers, florists, liverymen, everybody, in fact, which Josephine had contracted right and left in his absence. Not only did he pay her obligations with little more than a grimace, but he entered heartily into her plans for repairing and beautifying their new home. The two appeared constantly together in public, where their evident happiness coming so close upon the rumors of a divorce, caused endless gossip.

CHAPTER IV
BONAPARTE IS MADE FIRST CONSUL—JOSEPHINE’S TACT IN PUBLIC LIFE—HER PERSONAL CHARM—MALMAISON

Josephine realized fully that if her victory over her brothers-in-law was complete, it could endure only during her own good behavior—that, if she ever again gave them reason for complaining of her conduct, she probably would have to suffer the full penalty of her wrongdoing. She must have realized, too, that the supreme power she had once exercised over Napoleon was at an end, that he could get along very well without her. The absorbing passion of the Italian campaign had become the comfortable, unexacting affection which would have been so welcome to her in 1796. The change, if more peaceable, brought its dangers, she well knew. It meant that if she kept him now, she not only must be irreproachable in her life, but she must foster his affection by her devotion, amuse him, stand by him in his ambition; she must be the suitor now. There was no question in her mind that he was worth it. If there ever had been, the wonderful enthusiasm of the people on his return from Egypt would have dissipated the doubt. Her course was evident, and she adopted it immediately, and applied herself to it with more seriousness than she ever had given to anything before in her life. Indeed, the only serious purpose consistently followed which is to be found in Josephine’s life is the resolve taken after the Egyptian campaign, unconsciously, no doubt, to keep what remained to her of Napoleon’s affection, to make herself necessary to him.

An opportunity to show him how useful she might be in his career came very soon. The coup d’état of the 18th and 19th Brumaire (9th and 10th November, 1799) resulted in Napoleon’s being made First Consul in the new government which took the place of the Directory. The Bonapartes went at once to the Luxembourg Palace to live, and remained there until February, when the Tuileries was made the Government House. As the First Lady of the Land, Josephine was in a position where she could be an infinite harm or help to her husband. Any flippancy, self-will, or malice in managing the crowds of people she saw from day to day would have been fatal both to her and to Napoleon. The tact she showed from the first in playing the hostess of France was exquisite. That a woman who for thirty-seven years had been the plaything of fate, who had shown no moral principle or high purpose in meeting the crises of her life, whose chief aim had always been pleasure, and whose only weapons had been her sweet temper and her tears, should preside over the official society of a newly-formed government and not only make no mistakes, but every day knit the discordant elements of that society more close, is one of the marvels of feminine intuition and adaptability.

No doubt but that with Josephine her perfect goodness of heart was at the bottom of her tact. She had no malice, she much preferred to see even her enemies happy rather than miserable, and though she might weep and complain of their unkindness, if she had an opportunity she would do them a favor. Her goodness impressed everybody. The most disgruntled, after passing a few moments with the wife of the First Consul, went away mollified, if not satisfied; and a second visit usually satisfied them. She flattered the rough soldiers, when Napoleon, always eager to show attention to the army, presented them to her, by her knowledge of their deeds. She softened the suspicions of the radical Republicans by her affectation of sans-culottism and her familiarity with the members of the Girondin and Terrorist governments. She aroused hope among the aristocrats that she would secure them favors from the government—was she not one of themselves? Was not her first husband a viscount and a victim of the guillotine. She really wanted everybody to be pleased, and by her mere amiability she came as near as a human being can to pleasing everybody.

She was wise, too, in her dealings with people. She never pretended to know anything about politics—that was Napoleon’s business; but if she could do them a favor, she would; and straightway she wrote a note or took her carriage to intercede, personally, for them. If she was refused, she explained with much pains just why it was; if she succeeded, she was as pleased as a child. Hundreds of her little notes soliciting favors, are to be seen in the collections in Europe. Napoleon allowed her a free hand in this matter, for he appreciated how purely it was good will, not any desire to mix in politics, which animated her. He realized, too, how valuable to the First Consul it was to have some one who always made a friend, whether she secured a favor or not.

No doubt much of Josephine’s influence was due to her personal charm. She was never strictly a beautiful woman, but her grace was so exquisite, her toilet so perfect, her expression so winning, that defects were forgotten in the delight of her personality. Madame de Remusat, in describing Josephine, says that without being beautiful, she possessed a peculiar charm. Her features were fine and harmonious; her expression was pleasant; her mouth, which was small, concealed skilfully her poor teeth; her complexion, which was rather dark, was helped out by rouge and powder; her form was perfect, her limbs being supple and delicate, and every movement of her body was easy. “I never knew anyone,” Mme. de Remusat writes, “to whom one could apply more appropriately La Fontaine’s verse, ‘Et la grâce, plus belle encore que la beauté.’”

One of Josephine’s greatest charms was her voice: it was soft, well modulated, and very musical; it always put Napoleon under a peculiar spell. She was an excellent reader, and seemed never to tire of reading aloud. In the intimacy of their apartments she spent much time reading aloud to Napoleon, and often, when he was sleepless after a hard day, she would sit by his bed with a book until he fell asleep. Many of those who heard her read have said that the charm of her voice was such that one forgot entirely what she was saying and listened simply to the music of the sound.

Constant says, in describing Josephine: “She was of medium height and of a rarely perfect form; her movements were supple and light, making her walk something fairylike, without preventing a certain majesty becoming to a sovereign; her face changed with every thought of her soul, and never lost its charming sweetness; in pleasure as in sorrow she was always beautiful to look upon. There never was a woman who demonstrated better than she that ‘the eyes are the mirror of the soul;’ hers were of a deep blue, and almost always half closed by her long lids, which were slightly arched and bordered with the most beautiful lashes in the world. Her hair was very beautiful, long and soft; she liked to dress it in the morning with a red Madras handkerchief, which gave her a Creole air, most piquant to see.”