The night festivity, given in the harbor, July 2, was, in the way of picturesqueness, one of the most original and most beautiful ever seen. The sky was clear, the sea calm, the crowd of spectators enormous. Napoleon and Josephine, going down from the terrace in the garden of the Palazzo Doria, entered a large round temple, magnificently decorated, which was at once set in motion as if by magic, and transported by many oars to the middle of the harbor. Four rafts, covered with shrubbery, resembling floating islands, then drew up to the temple. The sovereigns were thus, in open sea, enclosed in a vast garden with trees, flowers, statues, and fountains. About this garden of Armida, thus radiant upon the waves, were a multitude of boats, under sail or propelled by oars, moving about, and their lights resembled the swarms of fireflies that in summer flutter above the fields of Lombardy. The mild temperature favored this joyous festival. The whole city, all the buildings, every vessel, were ablaze with a thousand lights, and the glassy sea reflected numberless flames. The darkness of night gave the signal for the illuminations. Magnificent fireworks were set off from the mole, the jetty, and the ships lining the entrance of the harbor. Music mingled with the joyous cries of the multitude. The temple in which were Napoleon and Josephine was rowed back to the terrace of the Palazzo Doria amid the applause of the crowd lining the shore.
The next day the Emperor and Empress were at a ball given in the old Ducal Palace. "The presence of Their Majesties in this superb building," says the Moniteur, "the kindness with which they deigned to speak to every one, gave this festivity a touching character. All who saw and heard our sovereigns, rejoiced in their new destinies. The concert was followed by a ball, and Their Majesties stayed through the several dances, leaving about midnight. Their path was lit by numberless candles. On their way they met a multitude, delighted even at that hour, to be able to discern some of our monarch's features."
In spite of all these splendid ceremonies Josephine, though idolized, was not happy. "In general," Mademoiselle Avrillon says with justice, "the public has a very faint knowledge of the real feelings of those in the highest station. Being often on show, they are obliged to assume a fictitious character, just as they dress themselves for great ceremonies. I have seen the Empress's sufferings, whom nothing could console for her separation from her children, whom she loved above everything. Ambitions were less to her than maternal love, her strongest feeling. The thought of leaving her son in Italy, the fear of never seeing him again, or the certainty of seeing him seldom, made her shed tears." One day when she was in more distress than usual, Napoleon said to her: "You are crying, Josephine; that's absurd; you are crying because you are going to be separated from your son. If the absence of your children gives you so much pain, judge what I must suffer. The affection you show them makes me feel most acutely my unhappiness in having none." These words sounded in Josephine's ears like a funeral knell. She saw the spectre of divorce rising before her, and turned pale. From Genoa they went to Turin. Napoleon heard there of the coalition preparing against him, and left suddenly for France with Josephine. Non-commissioned officers of the Grenadiers and the Chasseurs of the Guard served as escort, but they were unable to keep up with the carriages, so the Emperor thanked them for their zeal and pushed on without them. He did not stop once for twenty- four hours. Josephine, who never tormented her husband by complaining, did not say a word about the fatigues of this quick journey. After an absence of a hundred days, they reached Fontainebleau, July 11. No one expected them and no preparations had been made for their reception. Their departure from Turin had been so recent, and it resembled a flight. The Emperor did not wish to be recognized on the way, and burst into Fontainebleau like a bombshell. The palace porter was an old servant, named Guillot, who had been Napoleon's cook in Egypt. "Well," the Emperor said to him, "you must go back to your old business and cook us some supper." Fortunately the porter had in his sideboard some mutton-chops and eggs. He set to work, and Napoleon ate this improvised meal with great relish. Josephine borrowed some linen from one of her old chambermaids. The Emperor asked for a full account of everything that had happened in Paris during his absence, and began to draw up the plans which were to be accomplished at Austerlitz before the end of the year. July 18, at one in the afternoon, he arrived at Saint Cloud, accompanied by the Empress, amid the roar of the cannon at the Invalides. That evening they went into the city, called on Napoleon's mother, and went to the opera, where the Prétendus was given; the audience greeted them most warmly. After all the splendor of the Italian festivities the time had come for military preparations and warlike thoughts.
XV.
DURING THE CAMPAIGN OF AUSTERLITZ.
Austerlitz was to be for the Empire what Marengo had been for the Consulate: a consolidation. In spite of the pomps of the double coronation, Napoleon did not feel firmly established on his Imperial and Royal throne. Opinions varied with regard to the stability of the new regime. The Liberals missed the Republic, and the Royalists the Bourbons. If the army and the people showed confidence in the Emperor's star, the Parisian middle class was always cool, and business men observed with anxiety the hostility of England, Austria, Russia, and possibly Prussia. Paris was gloomy; business was dull; the absence of the court depressed the shop-keepers; the theatres were empty; in short, the winter was infinitely less gay than the one before. There was general uneasiness; wives feared for their husbands; mothers for their sons. Every one had become used to the peace which had lasted five years, and the renewal of war inspired the greatest anxiety.
As for Napoleon, he felt the need of some great stroke that should astonish and fascinate the world. He understood that to maintain his fame he was condemned to work miracles. September 23, 1805, he had exposed to the Senate the hostile conduct of Austria, and had announced his speedy departure to carry aid to the Elector of Bavaria, the ally of France, whom the Austrians had just driven from Munich. Five days later he had started, confident of success, and certain that he would find his people at his feet on his return. The Empress accompanied him as far as Strassburg, and established herself there to be near the scene of war and to receive earlier news than was possible at Paris.
Napoleon's letters to Josephine during the Austerlitz campaign have been preserved; unfortunately, we have not hers to him. The Emperor writes very differently from General Bonaparte. His letters are not the ardent, passionate, romantic epistles recalling the fervid style and thought of the Nouvelle Héloïse. They are substantial letters, concise and interesting, such as a good husband might write after ten years of marriage, but not at all a lover's letters. Josephine, who was quite observant, must have noticed the difference, but she had enough tact and prudence to avoid complaint. 1805 was not 1796; Napoleon still loved Josephine, but from habit, gratitude, and a sense of duty, not with mad passion. He paid her much attention, held her in high regard, felt sympathy with her, deference, and friendship, but scarcely love. Beneath the vaulted roof of Notre Dame Napoleon had given to Josephine the Imperial diadem, but he had not given her the true crown,—love.
October 1 the Emperor took command of his army, which had assembled with wonderful promptness on the Rhine. The next day he wrote to the Empress from Marenheims: "I am still very well, and leaving for Strassburg, where I shall arrive this evening. The advance has begun. The armies of Würtemberg and of Baden are joining mine. I have a good position and love you." October 4 he wrote to her: "I am at Ludwigsberg, and leave to-night. There is no news. All the Bavarians have joined me. I am well. I hope in a few days to have something interesting to tell you. Keep well and believe that I love you. There is a very fine court here, a pretty bride, and the people are pleasant, even the Elector's wife, who seems very good, although she is a daughter of the King of England."
October 5 Napoleon sent another letter to Josephine from Ludwigsberg: "I have at once to continue my march. You will be five or six days without news of me; don't be anxious; it is on account of the operations we undertake. Are you as well as I could hope? Yesterday I was at the wedding of the son of the Elector of Würtemberg with a niece of the King of Prussia. I want to give her a present of from thirty-six to forty thousand francs. Have it made and send it by one of my chamberlains to the bride when the chamberlains are coming to me. Do this at once. Good by; I love and kiss you."