MARIA LOUISA.
The emperor’s omission seems to have greatly pained Josephine; for the same night she wrote him a delicate and touching letter, from which these are extracts:—
“Sire,—Amid the numerous felicitations which you receive from every corner of Europe, can the feeble voice of a woman reach your ear, and will you deign to listen to her who has 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, as you know mine. Though separated, we are united by a sympathy which survives all events. I should have desired to learn the birth of the king of Rome from yourself, and not from the cannons of Evreux; but I know that your first attentions are due to the public authorities, to your own family, and especially to the fortunate princess who has realized your dearest hopes. She cannot be more devoted to you than I; but she has been enabled to contribute more towards your happiness, by securing that of France. 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 wait.”
The next day, Eugene arrived, charged with a message from the emperor: “Tell your mother,” said he, “that I am certain she will rejoice more than any one 256 at my good fortune. I would have written to her already, had I not been completely absorbed in looking at my son. I tear myself from him only to attend to the most indispensable duties. This evening I will discharge the sweetest of all—I will write to Josephine.” Accordingly, about eleven o’clock the same evening, the folding-doors were opened in great form, and the announcement, “From the emperor,” ushered in one of his own pages, bearer of a letter from Napoleon. The empress retired to read this ardently-desired epistle; and on her return it was easy to see that she had been weeping. The curiosity of her court was gratified by hearing various portions of the letter, which concluded in these words: “This infant, in concert with our Eugene, will constitute my happiness, and that of France.” “Is it possible,” said Josephine, “to be more amiable? or could any thing be better calculated to soothe whatever might be painful in my thoughts at this moment, did I not so ardently love the emperor? This uniting of my son with his own is worthy of him, who, when he wills, is the most delightful man in the world.”
From their separation, the correspondence between Napoleon and Josephine continued undiminished in respect and affection. Notes from the emperor arrived weekly, and he never returned from any journey or long absence without seeing the “illustrious solitary.” No sooner had he alighted, than a messenger, usually his own confidential attendant, was despatched to Malmaison: “Tell the empress I am well, and desire to hear that she is happy.” In every thing Napoleon continued to evince for her the most 257 confiding tenderness. All the private griefs in which Josephine had shared, and the sorrows to which she had ministered, were still disclosed to her. He gave a further proof of it by allowing her frequently to see his son—a communication which the jealous temper of Maria Louisa would have sought to prevent, had it not been secretly managed. Josephine had so far complied with the wishes of the emperor as to attempt an intercourse with her successor. “But the latter,” to use Josephine’s own words, “rejected the proposal in a manner which prevented me from renewing it. I am sorry for it; her presence would have given me no uneasiness, and I might have bestowed good counsel as to the best means of pleasing the emperor.”
The personal intercourse between Napoleon and Josephine was conducted with the most decorous attention to appearances. It ended in one hurried and distressful interview after the return of Napoleon from his disastrous Russian campaign. But in the midst of the tremendous struggle that followed, Napoleon found leisure to think of her. His letters to her were more frequent and more affectionate than ever, while hers, written by every opportunity, were perused, under all circumstances, with a promptitude which showed clearly the pleasure or the consolation that was expected: in fact, it was observed that letters from Malmaison or Navarre were always torn rather than broken open, and read, whatever else might be retarded.
On the approach of the allies to Paris, Josephine retired from Malmaison to Navarre. Her only pleasure, during the period of painful uncertainty which followed, 258 was to shut herself up alone, and read the letters she had last received from the emperor. A letter from him at last put an end to all uncertainty; it announced his fall and his retirement to Elba. The perusal of it overwhelmed her with grief and consternation; but, recovering herself, she exclaimed, with impassioned energy, “I must not remain here: my presence is necessary to the emperor. The duty is, indeed, more Maria Louisa’s than mine; but the emperor is alone, forsaken. I, at least, will not abandon him.” Tears came to her relief. She became more composed, and added, “I may, however, interfere with his arrangements. I will remain here till I hear from the allied sovereigns. They will respect her who was the wife of Napoleon.” Nor was she deceived. The Emperor Alexander sent assurances of his friendship, and the other allies united in a request that she would return to Malmaison. Here every thing was maintained on its former footing. Her court, elegant as ever, was frequented by the most distinguished personages of Europe. Among the earliest visitors was Alexander. Josephine received him with her wonted grace, and expressed how much she felt on the occasion. “Madam,” replied Alexander, “I burned with the desire of beholding you. Since I entered France, I have never heard your name pronounced but with benedictions. In the cottage and in the palace I have collected accounts of your goodness; and I do myself a pleasure in thus presenting to your majesty the universal homage of which I am the bearer.” The king of Prussia also visited her, and she received attentions even from the Bourbons. Her children 259 were protected, and Eugene was offered his rank as marshal of France; but he declined it.
The health of Josephine, which had been undermined by previous sufferings, sunk entirely under these new and agitating emotions. On the 4th of May, 1814, she became, for the first time, decidedly ill. The Emperor Alexander was unremitting in his attentions to her, and to him her last words were addressed. “I shall die regretted. I have always desired the happiness of France; I did all in my power to contribute to it; I can say with truth, that the first wife of Napoleon never caused a single tear to flow.” She then sunk into a gentle slumber, from which she never awoke.