Sometimes Josephine travelled alone; and, on such occasions, every thing was arranged beforehand, including the replies she was to make to the addresses made to her, and the presents she was to bestow. Even the most minute thing was set down in a huge manuscript volume, which Josephine diligently conned previous to every ceremony. But if any thing chanced to escape her memory in this multiplicity of details, her unpremeditated answers or arrangements were always delivered with so much eloquence and propriety, or marked with such perfect kindness, that all parties were satisfied. Sometimes, however, a little mistake occurred, as, for example, on departing from Rheims, Josephine presented the mayoress with a medalion of malakite, set with diamonds, using the expression, “It is the emblem of hope.” Some days after, on seeing this absurdity in one of the journals, she could not believe that she had used it, and despatched a courier instantly to Napoleon, fearing his displeasure above all things. This occasioned the famous order that no journalist should report any speech of the emperor or empress, unless the same had previously appeared in the “Moniteur.” But Josephine usually adhered with scrupulous exactness to her written instructions. “He has said it, and it must be right,” was the constant remark with which she silenced all suggestions of change. On these excursions, every thing like vain etiquette was laid aside: every thing passed as if among a party of equals, on an excursion of pleasure, each being bound to supply a modicum to the common fund of enjoyment; the empress studying 243 opportunities of showing those attentions which cost so little, and yet go so far in winning a way to the heart.
Charlemagne had received the holy unction from the hands of the head of the Catholic church. Napoleon aspired to the same distinction, but with this difference,—instead of going to Rome to receive it, the pope was brought to Paris to administer it. He suffered much from the climate of France, which was too severe for his delicate health. The solicitude of the empress to provide for his comfort was extreme. The orders of the emperor had provided every thing that could be deemed necessary; but the observant delicacy of the empress supplied many wants which might else have been overlooked. Every day she sent to inquire after his welfare, frequently visited, and sometimes corresponded with him. The following letter, addressed to him, does equal credit to her head and to her heart:—
“The Empress to his Holiness Pius VII.
“Whatever experience of human change the knowledge of our religion may have taught, your holiness will view, doubtless, not without astonishment, an obscure woman ready to receive from your hands the first among the crowns of Europe. In an event so far beyond the ordinary course, she recognizes and blesses the work of the Almighty, without daring to inquire into his purposes. But, holy father, I should be ungrateful, even while I magnified the power of God, if I poured not out my soul into the paternal bosom of him who has been chosen to represent his providence—if I confided not to you my secret thoughts. The first and 244 chief of these is the conviction of my own weakness and incapacity. Of myself I can do nothing, or, to speak more correctly, the little I can do is derived from that extraordinary man with whom my lot is cast. * * * How many are the difficulties which surround the station to which he has raised me! I do not speak of the corruption, which, in the midst of greatness, has tainted the purest minds; I can rely upon my own, so far as, in this respect, not to fear elevation. But from a height whence all other dignities appear mean, how shall I distinguish real poverty? Ah, truly do I feel that, in becoming empress of the French, I ought also to become to them as a mother. But of what avail are intentions? Deeds are what the people have a right to demand of me, and your holiness, who so well replies to the respectful love of your subjects by continual acts of justice and benevolence, more than any other sovereign, is qualified to instruct me. O, then, holy father, may you, with the sacred unctions poured upon my head, not only awaken me to the truth of these precepts which my heart acknowledges, but also confirm the resolution of applying them to practice!”
On the 2d of December, 1804, Napoleon placed the imperial crown upon the head of Josephine, as she knelt before him on the platform of the throne in the cathedral of Notre Dame. Her appearance at this moment was most touching; tears of deep emotion fell from her eyes; she remained for a space kneeling, with hands crossed upon her bosom, then, slowly and gracefully rising, fixed upon her husband a look of 245 gratitude and tenderness. Napoleon returned the glance. It was a silent but conscious interchange of the hopes, the promises, and the memories, of years.
In the spring of the following year, at Milan, Josephine received from her husband the crown of the ancient Lombard sovereigns. The festivities which followed were interrupted by a summons to put down a new combination against France. She resolved to accompany the emperor on his return to Paris, though suffering most severely from the rapidity of the journey. At each change of horses, it was necessary to throw water on the smoking wheels; yet Napoleon kept calling from the carriage, “On, on! We do not move!”
On his departure for the splendid campaign of Austerlitz, Josephine was appointed regent of the empire. The victory, decisive of the fate of Austria, was productive of renewed pleasure to the empress, by the marriage of her Eugene with the princess royal of Bavaria. Joyfully obeying the mandate which was to restore her for a time to the society of those she loved, the empress left Paris for Munich, where the marriage was celebrated. This union proved a most happy one; and the domestic felicity of her son—now made viceroy of Italy—constituted, both in her prosperous and adverse fortunes, a cause of rejoicing to Josephine. Her daughter, Hortense, soon after became queen of Holland. Could grandeur command or insure happiness, Josephine had subsequently never known misfortune. Every wish, save one, was gratified. She found herself on the most splendid of European thrones, beloved by the wonderful man who had placed her there, adored by the French nation, 246 and respected even by enemies. Her children occupied stations second only to herself, with the prospect, either directly or in their issue, of succeeding to empire when death should relax the giant grasp which now swayed the sceptre.
All these brilliant prospects were closed to her by the death, in 1807, of her grandson, the prince royal of Holland. This boy had gained, in an astonishing manner, upon the affections and hopes of his uncle, and there seems to be no reason for discrediting the belief of the emperor’s intention to adopt him as his successor. Napoleon was strongly affected by the loss of his little favorite, and was often heard to exclaim, amidst the labors of his cabinet, “To whom shall I leave all this?”
To Josephine this loss was irremediable: hers was a grief not less acute, yet greater, than a mother’s sorrow; for, while she grieved for a beloved child, she trembled to think of the consequences to herself.
But for two years longer she enjoyed such happiness as Damocles may be supposed to have felt with the sword suspended over his head. The final blow was not struck till 1809. On the 26th of October of that year, Napoleon, having once more reduced Austria to sue for peace, arrived most unexpectedly at Fontainbleau. The court was at St. Cloud, and there were none to receive him. A courier was despatched to inform Josephine, who instantly obeyed the summons. During the succeeding night, it is supposed that Napoleon first opened to her the subject of a separation; for from the morning of the 27th, it was evident that they lived in a state of constant restraint and mutual observation; Napoleon 247 scarcely venturing to look upon Josephine, save when he was not observed; while she hung upon every glance, and trembled at every word, at the same time that both endeavored to be composed and natural in their demeanor before the courtiers. But these are quicksighted to detect any change of condition in their superiors; nor was it one of the least of Josephine’s troubles to be exposed to their ingratitude. “In what self-restraint,” said she, “did I pass the period during which, though no longer his wife, I was obliged to appear so to all eyes! Ah, what looks are those which courtiers suffer to fall upon a repudiated wife!” The circumstance which, more than others, excited suspicion, was the shutting up, by the emperor’s commands, of the private access between their apartments. Formerly, their intercourse had thus been free, even amid the restraints of a court. Napoleon would surprise Josephine in her boudoir, and she would steal upon his moments of relaxation in his cabinet. But now all was reversed; the former never entered, but knocked when he would speak to the latter, who hardly dared to obey the signal, the sound of which caused such violent palpitations of the heart, that she had to support herself against the wall as she tottered towards the little door, on the other side of which Napoleon waited her approach. At these conferences he sought to persuade her of the political necessity and advantages of a separation—a measure which he at first rather hinted at than disclosed as a matter determined upon.