Josephine / Makers of History

by John S. C. Abbott

Ten o'clock in the morning was the reception hour. These morning parties, attended by the most distinguished members of Parisian society, none appearing except in uniform or in court costume, were always very brilliant. Some ten or twelve of the visitors were always previously invited to remain to breakfast. At eleven o'clock they passed from the saloon to the breakfast-room, the empress leading, followed by her court according to their rank, she naming those who were to sit on her right and left. The repast, both at breakfast and dinner, ordinarily consisted of one course only, every thing excepting the dessert being placed upon the table at once. The empress had five attendants, who stood behind her chair; all the guests who sat down with her had one each. Seven officials of different ranks served at the table. The breakfast usually occupied three quarters of an hour, when the empress, with her ladies and guests, adjourned to the gallery, which contained the choicest specimens of painting and sculpture which the genius of Napoleon could select. The prospect from the gallery was very commanding, and, in entire freedom from constraint, all could find pleasant employment. Some examined with delight the varied works of art; some, in the embrasures of the windows, looked out upon the lovely scenery, and in subdued tones of voice engaged in conversation; while the chamberlain in attendance read aloud from some useful and entertaining volume to Josephine, and those who wished to listen with her. At two o'clock the arrival of the carriages at the door was the signal for the visitors to depart. Three open carriages, when the weather permitted, were always provided, each drawn by four horses. Madame d'Arberg, the lady of honor, one of the ladies in waiting, and some distinguished guest, accompanied the empress. Two hours were spent in riding, visiting improvements, and conversing freely with the various employées on the estate. The party then returned to the palace, and all disposed of their time as they pleased until six o'clock, the hour of dinner. From twelve to fifteen strangers were always invited to dine. After dinner the evening was devoted to relaxation, conversation, backgammon, and other games. The young ladies, of whom there were always many whom Josephine retained around her, usually, in the course of the evening, withdrew from the drawing-room to a smaller saloon opening from it, where, with unrestrained glee, they engaged in mirthful sports, or, animated by the music of the piano, mingled in the dance. Sometimes, in the buoyancy of youthful joy, they forgot the demands of etiquette, and somewhat incommoded, by their merry laughter, the more grave company in the grand apartment. The lady of honor would, on such occasions, hint at the necessity of repressing the mirth. Josephine would invariably interpose in their behalf. "My dear Madame d'Arberg," she would say, "suffer both them and us to enjoy, while we may, all that innocent happiness which comes from the heart, and which penetrates the heart." At eleven o'clock, tea, ices, and sweetmeats were served, and then the visitors took their leave. Josephine sat up an hour later conversing most freely and confidentially with those friends who were especially dear to her, and about midnight retired.

Marriage of Napoleon and Maria Louisa.

In the month of March, 1810, Maria Louisa arrived in Paris, and her marriage with Napoleon was celebrated with the utmost splendor at St. Cloud. All France resounded with rejoicing as Napoleon led his youthful bride into the Tuilleries, from whence, but three months before, Josephine had been so cruelly ejected. The booming of the cannon, the merry pealing of the bells, the acclamations of the populace, fell heavily upon the heart of Josephine. She tried to conceal her anguish, but her pallid cheek and swimming eye revealed the severity of her sufferings.

Birth of the King of Rome.

Napoleon continued, however, the frequency of his correspondence, and, notwithstanding the jealousy of Maria Louisa, did not at all intermit his visits. In a little more than a year after his marriage the King of Rome was born. The evening in which Josephine received the tidings of his birth, she wrote an affectionate and touching letter to Napoleon, congratulating him upon the event. This letter reveals so conspicuously the magnanimity of her principles, and yet the feminine tenderness of her bleeding heart, that we can not refrain from inserting it. It was dated at Navarre, at midnight, the 20th of March, 1811.

Letter from Josephine.

"Sire,—Amid the numerous felicitations which you receive from every corner of Europe, from all the cities of France, and from each regiment of your army, can the feeble voice of a woman reach your ear, and will you deign to listen to her who so often consoled your sorrows, and sweetened your pains, now that she speaks to you only of that happiness in which all your wishes are fulfilled? Having ceased to be your wife, dare I felicitate you on becoming a father? Yes, sire, without hesitation, for my soul renders justice to yours, in like manner as you know mine. I can conceive every emotion you must experience, as you divine all that I feel at this moment, and, though separated, we are united by that sympathy which survives all events.

Josephine's interest in the son of Napoleon.

"I should have desired to have learned the birth of the King of Rome from yourself, and not from the sound of the cannon of Evreux, or from the courier of the prefect. I know, however, that, in preference to all, your first attentions are due to the public authorities of the state, to the foreign ministers, to your family, and especially to the fortunate princess who has realized your dearest hopes. She can not be more tenderly devoted to you than I am. But she has been enabled to contribute more toward your happiness by securing that of France. She has, then, a right to your first feelings, to all your cares, and I who was but your companion in times of difficulty—I can not ask more than for a place in your affections far removed from that occupied by the empress, Maria Louisa. Not till you have ceased to watch by her bed—not till you are weary of embracing your son, will you take the pen to converse with your best friend. I will wait.