said he, perfectly quiet. "But what can you expect, madame? We
military men are but the automatons which the government sets in
motion according to its good pleasure; we know only how to obey; the
sections, however, cannot but congratulate themselves that I have
spared them so much. Nearly all my cannon were loaded only with
powder. I wanted to give a little lesson to the Parisians. The whole
affair was nothing but the impress of my seal on France. Such
skirmishes are only the vespers of my fame." [Footnote: Napoleon's
words. - See Le Normand, vol. i., p. 214.]
Josephine felt irritated, excited by the coldness with which
Napoleon spoke of the slaughter of that day; and her eyes, otherwise
so full of gentleness, were now animated with flashes of anger.
"Oh," cried she, "if you must purchase fame at such a price, I would
sooner you were one of the victims!"
Bonaparte looked at her with astonishment, but as he perceived her
flushed cheeks and flashing eyes, the sight of her grace and beauty
ravished him, and a soft, pleasant smile suddenly illumined his
countenance. He answered her violent attack by a light pleasantry,
and with gladsome unaffectedness he gave to the conversation another
turn. The small, pale, gloomy general was at once changed into a
young, impassioned, amiable cavalier, whose countenance grew
beautiful under the sparkling intelligence which animated it, and
whose enchanting eloquence made his conversation attractive and
lively, carrying with it the conviction of a superior mind.
After the visitors who had met that morning in Josephine's drawing-
room had departed the general still remained, notwithstanding the
astonished and questioning looks of the viscountess, paying no
attention to her remarks about the fine weather, or her intention to
enjoy a promenade. With rapid steps, and hands folded behind his
back, he paced a few times to and fro the room, then standing before
Josephine he fixed on her face a searching look.
"Madame," said he, suddenly, with a kind of rough tone, "I have a
proposition to make: give me your hand. Be my wife!"
Josephine looked at him, half-astonished, half-irritated. "Is it a
joke you are indulging in?" said she.
"I speak in all earnestness," said Bonaparte, warmly. "Will you do
me the honor of giving me your hand?"
The gravity with which Bonaparte spoke, the deep earnestness
imprinted on his features, convinced Josephine that the general
would not condescend to indulge in a joke of so unseemly a
character, and a lovely blush overspread the face of the
viscountess.
"Sir," said she, "who knows if I might not be inclined to accept
your distinguished offer, if, unfortunately, fate stood not in the
way of your wishes?"
"Fate?" asked Bonaparte, with animation.
"Yes, fate! my general," repeated Josephine, smiling. "But let us
speak no more of this. It is enough that fate forbids me to be the
wife of General Bonaparte. I can say no more, for you would laugh at
me."
"But you would laugh at me if you could turn me away with so vague
an answer," cried Bonaparte, with vivacity. "I pray you, explain the
meaning of your words."
"Well, then, general, I cannot be your wife, for I am destined to be
Queen of France - yes, perhaps more than queen!"
It was now Bonaparte's turn to appear astonished and irritated, and
using her own words he said, shrugging his shoulders, "Madame, is it
a joke you are indulging in?"
"I speak in all earnestness," said Josephine, shaking her head.
"Listen, then: a negro-woman in Martinique foretold my fortune, and
as her oracular words have thus far been all fulfilled, I must
conclude that the rest of her prophecies concerning me will be
realized."
"And what has she prophesied to you?" asked Bonaparte, eagerly.
"She has told me: 'You will one day be Queen of France! you will be
still more than queen!'"
The general was silent. He had remained standing; but now slowly
paced the room a few times, his hands folded on his back and his
head inclined on his breast. Then again he stood before the
viscountess, and his eyes rested upon her with a wondrous bright and
genial expression.
"I bid defiance to fate," said he, somewhat solemnly. "This prophecy
does not frighten me away, and in defiance of your prophetic negro-
woman, I, the republican general, address my prayer to the future
Queen of France: be my wife! - give me your hand."
Josephine felt almost affrighted at this pertinacity of the general,
and a sentiment of apprehension overcame her as she looked into the
pale, decided countenance of this man, a stranger to her, and who
claimed her for his wife.
"Oh, sir," exclaimed she, with some anguish, "you offer me your hand
with as much carelessness as if the whole matter were merely for a
contra-dance. But I can assure you that marriage is a very grave
matter, which has no resemblance whatever to a gay dance. I know it
is so. I have had my sad experience, and I cannot so easily decide
upon marrying a second time."
"You refuse my hand, then?" said Bonaparte, with a threatening tone.
Josephine smiled. "On the contrary, general," said she, "give me
your hand and accompany me to my carriage, which has been waiting
for me this long time."
"That means you dismiss me! You close upon me the door of your
drawing-room?" exclaimed Bonaparte, with warmth.
She shook her head, and, bowing before him with her own irresistible
grace, she said in a friendly manner: "I am too good a patriot not
to be proud of seeing the conqueror of Toulon in my drawing-room.
To-morrow I have an evening reception, and I invite you to be
present, general."
From this day Bonaparte visited Josephine daily; she was certain to
meet him everywhere. At first she sought to avoid him, but he always
knew with cunning foresight how to baffle her efforts, and to
overcome all difficulties which she threw in his way. Was she at her
friend Therese's, she could safely reckon that General Bonaparte
would soon make his appearance and come near her with eyes beaming
with joy, and in his own energetic language speak to her of his love
and hopes. Was she to be present at the receptions of the five
monarchs of Paris, it was General Bonaparte who waited for her at
the door of the hall to offer his arm, and lead her amid the
respectful, retreating, and gently applauding crowd to her seat,
where he stood by her, drawing upon her the attention of all. Did
she take a drive, at the accustomed hour, in the Champs Elysees, she
was confident soon to see General Bonaparte on his gray horse gallop
at her side, followed by his brilliant staff, himself the object of
public admiration and universal respect; and finally, if she went to
the theatre, General Bonaparte never failed to appear in her loge,
to remain near her during the performance; and when she left, to
offer his arm to accompany her to her carriage.
It could not fail that this persevering homage of the renowned and
universally admired young general should make a deep and flattering
impression on Josephine's heart, and fill her with pride and joy.
But Josephine made resistance to this feeling; she endeavored to
shield herself from it by maternal love.
She sent for her two children from their respective schools, and
with her nearly grown-up son on one side and her daughter budding
into maidenhood on the other, she thus presented herself to the
general, and with an enchanting smile said: "See, general, how old I
am, with a grown-up son and daughter who soon can make of me a
grandmother."
But Bonaparte with heart-felt emotion reached his hand to Eugene and
said, "A man who can call so worthy a youth as this his son, is to
be envied."
A cunning, smiling expression of the eye revealed to Josephine that
he had understood her war-stratagem - that neither the grown-up son
nor the marriageable daughter could deter him from his object.
Josephine at last was won by so much love and tenderness, but she
could not yet acknowledge that the wounds of her heart were closed;
that once more she could trust in happiness, and devote her life to
a new love, to a new future. She shrank timidly away from such a
shaping of her destiny; and even the persuasions of her friends and
relatives, even of the father of her deceased husband, could not
bring her to a decision.
The state of her mind is depicted in a letter which Josephine wrote
to her friend Madame de Chateau Renaud, and which describes in a
great measure the strange uncertainty of her heart:
"You have seen General Bonaparte at my house! Well, then, he is the
one who wishes to be the father of the orphans of Alexandre de
Beauharnais and the husband of his widow. 'Do you love him?' you
will ask. Well, no! - "Do you feel any repugnance toward him?' No,
but I feel in a state of vacillation and doubt, a state very
disagreeable to me, and which the devout in religious matters
consider to be the most scandalizing. As love is a kind of worship,
one ought in its presence to feel animated by other feelings than
those I now experience, and therefore I long for your advice, which
might bring the constant indecision of my mind to a fixed
conclusion. To adopt a firm course has always appeared to my Creole
nonchalance something beyond reach, and I find it infinitely more
convenient to be led by the will of another.
"I admire the courage of the general; I am surprised at his ample
knowledge, which enables him to speak fluently on every subject; at
the vivacity of his genius, which enables him to guess at the
thoughts of others before they are expressed; but I avow, I am
frightened at the power he seems to exercise over every one who
comes near him. His searching look has something strange, which I
cannot explain, but which has a controlling influence even upon our
directors; judge, therefore, of his influence over a woman. Finally,
the very thing which might please - the violence of his passion - of
which he speaks with so much energy, and which admits of no doubt,
that passion is exactly what creates in me the unwillingness I have
so often been ready to express.
"The first bloom of youth lies behind me. Can I therefore hope that
this passion, which in General Bonaparte resembles an attack of
madness, will last long? If after our union he should cease to love
me, would he not reproach me for what he had done? Would he not
regret that he had not made another and more brilliant union? What
could I then answer? What could I do? I could weep. 'A splendid
remedy!' I hear you say. I know well that weeping is useless, but to
weep has been the only resource which I could find when my poor
heart, so easily wounded, has been hurt. Write to me a long letter,
and do not fear to scold me if you think that I am wrong. You know
well that everything which comes from you is agreeable to me."
[Footnote: "Memoires sur l'Imperatrice Josephine," par Madame
Ducrest p. 362.]
While Josephine was writing this letter to her friend, General
Bonaparte received one which produced upon him the deepest
impression, though it consisted only of a few words. But these words
expressed the innermost thought of his soul, and revealed to him
perhaps for the first time its secret wishes.
One evening as the general, returning home from a visit to the
Viscountess Josephine, entered into his drawing-room, followed by
some of his officers and adjutants, he observed on a large
timepiece, which stood on the mantel-piece, a letter, the deep-red
paper and black seal of which attracted his attention.
"Whence this letter?" asked he, with animation, of the servant-man
walking before him with a silver candlestick, as he pointed to the
red envelope.
But the waiter declared that he had not seen the letter, and that he
knew not where it came from.
"Ask the other servants, or the porter, who brought this red letter
with the black seal," ordered Bonaparte.
The servant hurried from the room, but soon returned, with the news
that no one knew any thing about the letter; no one had seen it, no
one knew who had placed it there.
"Well, then, let us see what it contains," said Bonaparte, and he
was going to break the seal, when Junot suddenly seized his hand and
tore the letter away from him.
"Do not read it, general," implored Junot; "I beseech you do not
open this letter. Who knows if some of your enemies have not sent
you a letter a la Catharine de Medicis? Who knows if it is not
poisoned - that the mere touch of it may not produce death?"
Bonaparte smiled at this solicitude of his tender friend, yet he
listened to his pressing alarms, and, instead of opening and reading
the letter, he passed it to Junot.
"Read it yourself, if you have the courage to do so," said be,
familiarly shaking his head.
Junot rapidly broke the black seal and tore the red paper. Then,
fixing his eyes on it, he threw it aside, and broke into loud, merry
laughter.
"Well," asked Bonaparte, "what does the letter contain?"
"A mystery, my general - nothing more than a mystery," cried Junot,
presenting the letter to Bonaparte.
The letter contained but these words:
"Macbeth, you will be king.
"THE RED MAN."
Junot laughed over this mysterious note, but Bonaparte shared not in
his merriment. With compressed lips and frowning brow he looked at
these strange, prophetic words, as if in their characters he wanted
to discover the features of him who had dared to look into the most
hidden recesses of his soul; then he threw the paper into the
chimney-fire, and slowly and thoughtfully paced the room, while in a
low voice he murmured, "Macbeth, you will be king."
CHAPTER XXIII.
MARRIAGE.
At last the conqueror of Toulon conquered also the heart of the
young widow who had so anxiously struggled against him; at last
Josephine overcame all her fears, all her terror, and, with joyous
trust in the future, was betrothed to General Bonaparte. But even
then, after having taken this decisive step, after love had cast
away fear, even then she had not the courage to reveal to her
children that she had contracted a new marriage-tie, that she was
going to give to the orphans of the Viscount de Beauharnais a new
father. Ashamed and timid as a young maid, she could not force
herself into acknowledging to the children of her deceased husband
that a new love had grown in her heart - that the mourning widow was
to become again a happy woman.
Josephine, therefore, commissioned Madame de Campan to communicate
this news to her Eugene and Hortense; to tell them that she desired
not only to have a husband, but also to give to her children a
faithful, loving father, who had promised to their mother with
sacred oaths to regard, love, and protect them as his own children.
The children of General Beauharnais received this news with tears in
their eyes; they complained loudly and sorrowfully that their mother
was giving up the name of their father and changing it for another;
that the memory of their father would be forever lost in their
mother's heart. But, through pure love for their mother, they soon
dried up these tears; and when next day Josephine, accompanied by
General Bonaparte, came to St. Germain, to visit Madame de Campan's
institution, she met there her daughter and son, who both embraced
her with the most tender affection, and, smiling under their tears,
offered their hands to General Bonaparte, who, with all the
sincerity and honesty of a deep, heart-felt emotion, embraced them
in his arms, and solemnly promised to treat them as a father and a
friend.
All Josephine's friends did not gladly give their approbation to her
marriage with this small, insignificant general, as yet so little
known, whose success before Toulon was already forgotten, and whose
victory of the thirteenth Vendemiaire had brought him but little
fame and made him many enemies.
Among the friends who in this union with Bonaparte saw very little
happiness for Josephine was her lawyer, the advocate Ragideau, who
for many years had been her family's agent, whose distinguished
talent for pleading and whose small figure had made him known
through all Paris, and of whom it was said that as a man he was but
a dwarf; but as a lawyer, he was a giant.
One day, in virtue of an invitation from the Viscountess de
Beauharnais, Ragideau came to the small hotel of the rue
Chautereine, and sent his name to the viscountess. She received his
visit, and at his entrance into her cabinet all those present
retreated into the drawing-room contiguous thereto, as they well
knew that Josephine had some business transactions with her lawyer.
Only one small, pale man, in modest gray clothing, whom Ragideau did
not condescend to notice, remained in the cabinet, who retired
quietly within the recess of a window.
Josephine received her business agent with a friendly smile, and
spoke long and in detail with him concerning a few important
transactions which had reference to her approaching marriage. Then
suddenly passing from the coldness of a business conversation to the
tone of a friendly one, she asked M. Ragideau what the world said of
her second marriage.
Ragideau shrugged his shoulders and assumed a thoughtful attitude.
"Your friends, madame," said he, "see with sorrow that you are going
to marry a soldier, who is younger than yourself, who possesses
nothing but his salary, and therefore cannot leave the service; or,
if he is killed in battle, leaves you perhaps with children, and
without an inheritance."
"Do you share the opinion of my friends, my dear M. Ragidean?" asked
Josephine, smiling.
"Yes," said the lawyer, earnestly, "yes, I share them - yes. I am not
satisfied that you should contract such a marriage. You are rich,
madame; you possess a capital which secures you a yearly income of
twenty-five thousand francs; with such an income you had claims to a
brilliant marriage; and I feel conscientiously obliged, as your
friend and business agent, in whom you have trusted, and who has for
you the deepest interest, to earnestly remonstrate with you while
there is yet time. Consider it well, viscountess; it is a reckless
step you are taking, and I entreat you not to do it. I speak to your
own advantage. General Bonaparte may be a very good man, possibly
quite a distinguished soldier, but certain it is he has only his hat
and his sword to offer you."
Josephine now broke into a joyous laugh, and her beaming eyes turned
to the young man there who, with his back turned to the party, stood
at the window beating the panes with his fingers, apparently
heedless of their conversation.
"General," cried out Josephine, cheerfully, "have you heard what M.
Ragideau says?"
Bonaparte turned slowly round, and his large eyes fell with a
flaming look upon the little advocate.
"Yes," said he, gravely, "I have heard all. M. Ragideau has spoken
as an honest man, and every thing he has said fills me with esteem
for him. I trust he will continue to be our agent, for I feel
inclined to give him full confidence."
He bowed kindly to the little lawyer, who stood there bewildered and
ashamed, and, offering his arm to Josephine, Bonaparte led her into
the drawing-room. [Footnote: The little advocate Ragideau remained
after this Josephine's agent. When Bonaparte had become emperor, he
appointed Ragideau notary of the civil list, and always manifested
the greatest interest in his behalf, and never by a word or a look
did he remind him of the strange circumstance which brought about
their acquaintance. - See Meneval. "Napoleon et Marie Louise," vol.
i., p. 202.]
The decisive word had been spoken: Josephine de Beauharnais was now
the bride of General Bonaparte. His hitherto pale, gloomy
countenance was all radiant with the bright light of love and
happiness. The days of solitude and privations were forgotten; the
young, beautiful Desiree Clary, whom Bonaparte so much loved a few
months ago, and the amiable Madame Permont, were also forgotten (and
yet to the latter, in her loge at the theatre, as a farce between
acts, he had offered his hand); all the little love-intrigues of
former days were forgotten; to Josephine alone belonged his heart,
her alone he loved with all the impassioned glow and depth of a
first exclusive love.
But yet, now and then, clouds darkened his large pensive brow; even
her smile could not always illumine the gloomy expression on his
features; it would happen that, plunged in deep, sad cogitations, he
heard not the question which she addressed him in her remarkably
soft and clear voice which Bonaparte so much loved.
His lofty pride felt humiliated and disgraced by the part he was now
performing.
He was the general of the army of the interior, but beyond the
frontiers of France there stood another French army, whose soldiers
had not the sad mission to maintain peace and quietness at home, to
fight against brothers; but an army seeking for the foe, whose blood
and victories were to secure them laurels.
General Bonaparte longed to be with this army, and to obliterate the
remembrance of the 13th Vendemiaire and its sad victory by brilliant
exploits beyond the Alps. It was also to him a humiliating and
depressing feeling to become the husband of a wealthy woman, and not
bring her as a glorious gift or a wedding-present the fame and
laurels of a husband.
It has often been said that Josephine obtained for her husband, as a
wedding-gift, his appointment of commanding general of the army in
Italy; that she procured this appointment from Barras, with whom,
before her acquaintance with Bonaparte, she had been in closer
relationship than that of mere friendship. Even such historians as
Schlosser have accepted this calumny as truth, without taking pains
to investigate whether the facts justified this supposition. In the
great historical events which have shaken nations, it is really of
little importance if, under the light which illumines and brings out
such events, a shadow should fall and darken an individual. Even the
hatred and scorn with which a nation, trodden down in the dust,
curses a tyrant, and endeavors to take vengeance on his fame, ask
not if the stone flung at the hated one falls upon other heads than
the one aimed at.
Not Josephine, but Bonaparte, did they wish to injure when stating
she had been the beloved of Barras. It was Bonaparte whom they
wished to humble and mortify, when historians published that, not to
his merits, but to the petitions of his wife, he was indebted for
his commission as general of the army in Italy.
But truth justifies not this calumny; and when with the light of
truth the path of the widow of General Beauharnais is lighted, it
will be found that this path led to solitude and quietness; that at
none of the great and brilliant banquets which Barras then gave, and
which in the Moniteur are described with so much pomp, not once is,
the name of Viscountess de Beauharnais mentioned; that in the
numerous pasquinades and lampoons which then appeared in Paris and
in all France, and in which all private life was fathomed, not once
is the name of Josephine brought out, neither is there any indirect
allusion to her.
Calumny has placed this stain on Josephine's brow, but truth takes
it away. And that truth is, that not Josephine, but Bonaparte, was
the friend of Barras; that it was not Barras, but Carnot, who
promoted Bonaparte to the rank of commanding general of the army in
Italy.
Carnot, the minister of war of the republic, the noble,
incorruptible republican, whose character, pure, bright, and true as
steel, turned aside all the darts of wickedness and calumny, which
could not inflict even a wound, or leave a stain on the brilliancy
of his spotless character, has given upon this point his testimony
in a refutation. At a later period, when the hatred of parties, and
the events of the 18th Fructidor, had forced him to flee from
France, he defended himself against the accusation launched at him
in the Council of the Five Hundred, which pointed him out as a
traitor to the republic; and this defence gave a detailed account of
the whole time of his administration, and especially what he
achieved for the republic, claiming as one of his services the
appointment of Bonaparte.
"It is not true," says he, "that Barras proposed Bonaparte for the
chief command of the army in Italy. I myself did it. But time was
allowed to intervene, so as to ascertain whether Bonaparte would
succeed before Barras congratulated himself, and then only to his
confidants, that it was he who had made this proposition to the
Directory. Had Bonaparte not answered the expectations, then I
should have been the one to blame: then it would have been I who had
chosen a young, inexperienced, intriguing man; and I who had
betrayed the nation, for the other members did not interfere in war-
matters; upon me all responsibility would have fallen. But as
Bonaparte is victorious, then it must be Barras who appointed him!
To Barras alone are the people indebted for this nomination! He is
Bonaparte's protector, his defender against my attacks! I am jealous
of Bonaparte; I cross him in all his plans; I lower his character; I
persecute him; I refuse him all assistance; I, in all probability,
am to plunge him into ruin!" - such were the calumnies which at that
time filled the journals bribed by Barras. [Footnote: "Response de
L. N. M. Carnot, citoyen francais, l'un des fondateurs de la
republique, et membre constitutionnel du Directoire executif an
rapport fait sur la conjuration du 18 Fructidor an conseil des Cinq
Cents."]
To Carnot, the secretary of war of the republic, did Bonaparte go,
to ask of him the command of the army in Italy. But Carnot answered
him, as he had already before Aubry, the minister of war, "You are
too young."
"Let us put appearances and age aside," said Bonaparte, impatiently.
"Alexander, Scipio, Conde, and many others, though still younger
than I, marched armies to brilliant conquests, and decided the fate
of whole kingdoms. I believe I have given a few proofs of what I can
achieve, if I am set at the right place; and I burn with great
longing to serve my country, to obtain victories over despots who
hate France because they fear, calumniate, and envy her!"
"I know you are a good patriot," said Carnot, slowly turning his
head; "I know and appreciate your services, and you may rest assured
that the obstacles which I place in your path are not directed
against you personally. But do you know the situation of our army?
It is devoured by the quartermaster; betrayed and sold, I fear, by
its general, and demoralized, notwithstanding its successes! That
army needs every thing, even discipline, whilst the enemy's army has
all that we need. We want nearly a miracle to be victorious. Whoever
is to lead to success our disordered, famished, disorganized army
must, above all things, possess its full confidence. Besides which,
without further events, I cannot dismiss the commanding general,
Scherer, but I must wait until some new disgrace furnishes me the
right to do so. You know all. Judge for yourself."
"I have already made all these objections within my own mind,"
replied Bonaparte, quietly; "yet I do not despair that if you will
give me your advice and assistance, I will overcome all these
difficulties. Listen to me, and I will let you know my plan for the
arrangement of the war, and I am convinced you will give it your
sanction."
With glowing eloquence, complete clearness and assurance, and the
convincing quietude of a persuaded, all-embracing, all-weighing
mind, Bonaparte unfolded the daring and astounding plan of his
campaign. As he spoke, his face brightened more and more, his eyes
glowed with the fire of inspiration, his countenance beamed with
that exalted, wondrous beauty which is granted to genius alone in
the highest moments of its ecstasy; the small, insignificant, pale
young man became the bold, daring hero, who was fully prepared
gladly to tread a world under his feet.
Carnot, who had looked on in astonishment, was finally carried away,
inspired by the persuasive eloquence of the young general, who in a
few words understood how to map out battle-fields, to measure whole
engagements, and to give to every one the needful and appropriate
place.
"You are right," cried Carnot, delighted, and offering his hand to
Bonaparte. "This plan must be carried out, and then we shall conquer
our enemies. I no longer doubt of the result, and from this moment
you can rely upon me. You shall be commander-in-chief of the army in
Italy. I will myself propose you to the Directory, and I will so
warmly speak in your favor, that my request will be granted."
[Footnote: "Memoires historiques et militaires, sur Carnot," vol.
ii.]
On this day the face of General Bonaparte was irradiated with a
still deeper lustre than when Josephine avowed that his love was
returned, and when she consented to be his.
Josephine's affianced, in the depths of his heart, retained a deep,
unfulfilled desire, an unreached aim of his existence. The
commanding general of the army in Italy had nothing more to wish, or
to long for; he now stood at hope's summit, and saw before him the
brilliant, glorious goal of ambition toward which the path lay open
before him.
Love alone could not satisfy the heart of Napoleon; the larger
portion of it belonged to ambition - to the lust for a warrior's
fame.
"I am going to live only for the future," said Bonaparte, that day,
to Junot, as he related to him the successful result of his
interview with Carnot. "None of you know me yet, but you will soon.
You will see what I can do: I feel within me something which urges
me onward. Too long has the war been limited to a single district; I
will take it into the heart of the continent, I will bring it on
fresh soil, and so carry it out that the men of habit will lose
their footing, and the old officers their heads, so that they will
no more know where they are. The soldiers will see what one man,
with a will of iron, can accomplish. All this I will do - and from
this day I strike out from the dictionary the word 'impossible!'"
Carnot was true to his word. On the 23d day of February, 1796,
Bonaparte was appointed by the Directory commander-in-chief of the
army of Italy.
From the face of the young general beamed forth the smile of
victory; he was now certain of the future! He now knew that to his
Josephine he could offer more than a hat and a sword, that he would
bring her undying fame and victory's brilliant crown. This was to be
the dowry before which the twenty-five thousand francs' yearly
income, which the little giant Ragideau had so highly prized, would
fall into the background.
On the 9th of March the marriage between General Bonaparte and the
widow Viscountess Josephine de Beauharnais took place. Barras, as
member of the government, was Bonaparte's first witness; his second
was Captain Lemarrois, his adjutant; and the choice of this witness
was a delicate homage which Napoleon paid to his dear Josephine: for
Lemarrois was the one who had first led the boy Eugene to Bonaparte,
and had thus been the means of his acquaintance with Josephine.
The two witnesses of Josephine were Tallien, who had delivered her
from prison, and to whom she owed the restoration of her property,
and a M. Calmelet, an old friend and counsellor of the Beauharnais
family. [Footnote: "Souvenirs historiques du Baron de Meneval," vol.
i., p. 340.]
In the pure modesty of her heart, Josephine had not desired that the
two children of her deceased husband should be the witnesses of her
second marriage, and Bonaparte was glad that Josephine's bridal
wreath would not be bedewed with the tears of memory.
On this happy day of Bonaparte's marriage, so much of the past was
set aside, that the certificate of baptism of the betrothed was
forgotten, and the number of years which made Josephine older than
Bonaparte was struck out.
The civil record, which M. Leclerc received of the marriage of
Bonaparte and Josephine, describes them as being nearly of the same
age, for it ran thus: "Napoleon Bonaparte, born in Ajaccio, on the
5th of February, 1768; and Marie Josephe Rosa Tascher de la Pagerie,
born in Martinique, the 23d of June, 1767."
Bonaparte's glowing and impassioned love led him - in order to spare
his Josephine the smallest, degree of humiliation - to alter and
destroy the dates of the certificate of their baptism; for Bonaparte
was born on the 15th of August, 1769, and Josephine on the 23d of
June, 1763. She was consequently six years older than he; but she
knew not that these six years would, one day, be the abyss which was
to swallow her happiness, her love, her grandeur.
Two days after his marriage with Josephine, Bonaparte left Paris for
the army, to travel in haste, an uninterrupted journey toward Italy.
"I must hasten to my post," said he smiling to Josephine, "for an
army without a chief is like a widow who can commit foolish deeds
and endanger her reputation. I am responsible for the army's conduct
from the moment of my appointment."
CHAPTER XXIV.
BONAPARTE'S LOVE-LETTERS.
Carnot had told Bonaparte the truth concerning the state of the army
in Italy. His statements were sustained by the proclamation which
the new commander-in-chief of the army in Italy addressed to his
soldiers, as for the first time he welcomed them at Nice.
"Soldiers," said he, "you are naked and badly fed; the government
owes you much, and can give you nothing. Your patience and the
courage you have exhibited amid these rocks are worthy of
admiration; but you gain no fame: no glory falls upon you here. I
will lead you into the fertile plains of the world; rich provinces
and large cities will fall into your power; there you will find
honor, fame, and abundance. Soldiers of Italy, would you fail in
courage and perseverance?" [Footnote: Norvins, "Histoire de
Napoleon," vol. i., p. 89.]
The mangled, ragged, half-starved soldiers answered with loud
enthusiastic shouts. When the vivats had died away, an old veteran
came out of the ranks, and with countenance half-defiant, half-
smiling, looking at the little general, he asked: "General, what
must we do that the roasted partridges, which are promised to us,
may fly into our mouths?"
"Conquer," cried Bonaparte, with a loud resounding voice - "conquer!
To the brave, glory and good repasts! To the coward, disgrace! To
the faint-hearted, misery! I will lead you into the path of victory.
Will you follow?"
"We will, we will!" shouted the soldiers. "Long live the little
general who is to deliver us from our wretchedness, who is to lead
us into victory's path!"
Bonaparte kept his word. He led them to Voltri, to the bridge of
Arcola, to Lodi.
But amid his wild career of fights, hardships, vigils, studies, and
perils, the thought of Josephine was the guiding star of his heart.
His mind was with her amid the battle's storm; he thought of her in
the camp, on the march, in the greatest conflict, and after the most
brilliant victories. This was shown in the letters he wrote every
day to Josephine; and in the brilliant hymns which the warrior, amid
the carnage of war, sung with the enthusiastic fervor of a poet to
his love and to his happiness.
It is the mission of eminent historians, when describing his
victorious campaign of Italy, to narrate his conquests; our mission
is simply to observe him in his conduct toward Josephine, and to
show how under the uniform of the warrior beat the heart of the
lover.
The letters which Bonaparte then wrote to Josephine are consequently
what concerns us most, and from which we will select a few as a
proof of the impassioned love which Napoleon felt for his young
wife.
LETTERS OF GENERAL BONAPARTE TO JOSEPHINE.
I.
"PORT MAURICE, the 14th Germinal (April 3), 1796.
"I have received all your letters, but none has made so much
impression on me as the last one. How can you, my adored friend,
speak to me in that way? Do you not believe that my situation here
is already horrible enough, without your exciting my longings, and
still more setting my soul in rebellion? What a style! what emotions
you describe! They glow like fire, they burn my poor heart! My own
Josephine, away from you, there is no joy; away from you, the world
is a wilderness in which I feel alone, and have no one in whom I can
confide. You have taken from me more than my soul; you are the only
thought of my life. When I feel weary with the burden of affairs,
when I dread some inauspicious result, when men oppose me, when I am
ready to curse life itself, I place my hand upon my heart, your
image beats there; I gaze on it, and love is for me absolute bliss,
and everything smiles except when I am away from my beloved.
"By what art have you been able to enchain all my powers, and to
concentrate in yourself all my mental existence? It is an
enchantment, my dear friend, which is to end only with my life. To
live for Josephine, such is the history of my life! I am working to
return to you, I am dying to approach you! Fool that I am, I see not
that I am more and more drifting away from you! How much space, how
many mountains separate us! how long before you can read these
words, the feeble expression of a throbbing soul in which you rule!
Ah, my adored wife, I know not what future awaits me, but if it
keeps me much longer away from you, it will be intolerable; my
courage reaches not that far. There was a time when I was proud of
my reputation; and sometimes when I cast my eyes on the wrong which
men could have done me, on the fate which Providence might have in
reserve for me, I prepared myself for the most unheard-of
adversities without wrinkling the brow or suffering fear; but now
the thought that my Josephine should be uncomfortable, or sick, or,
above all, the cruel, horrible thought that she might love me less,
makes my soul tremble, and my blood to remain still, bringing on
sadness, despondency, and taking away even the courage of anger and
despair. In times past I used to say, 'Men have no power over him
who dies without regret.' But now to die without being loved by you,
to die without the certainty of being loved, is for me the pains of
hell, the living, fearful feeling of complete annihilation. It is as
if I were going to suffocate! My own companion, you whom fate has
given me, to make life's painful journey, the day when no more I can
call your heart mine, when nature will be for me without warmth,
without vitality. ... I will give way, my sweet friend (ma douce
amie); my soul is sorrowful, my body languishes; men weary me. I
have a good right to detest them, for they keep me away from my
heart.
"I am now in Port Maurice, near to Oneglia; to-morrow I go to
Albenga. Both armies are moving forward; we are endeavoring to
deceive each other. Victory belongs to the swiftest. I am well
satisfied with General Beaulieu, he manoeuvres well; he is a
stronger man than his predecessor. I trust to beat him soundly. Be
without care; love me as your eyes; but no, that is not enough, as
yourself, more than yourself, as your thoughts, as your spirit, your
life, your all! Sweet friend, pardon me; I am beyond myself; nature
is too weak for him who feels with passion, for him whom you love.
"To Barras, Sucy, Madame Tallien, my heart-felt friendship; to
Madame Chateau Renaud, kindest regards; for Eugene and Hortense, my
true love. N. B."
II.