"ALBENGA, the 18th Germinal (April 7), 1796 [Footnote: The three
following letters have never been published until recently, and are
not to be found in any collection of letters from Napoleon and
Josephine, not even among those published by Queen Hortense:
"Lettres de Napoleon a Josephine, et de Josephine a Napoleon." They
are published for the first time in the "Histoire de l'Imperatrice
Josephine," by Aubenas, and were communicated to this author in
Napoleon's manuscript by the well-known and famous gatherer of
autographs, Feuillet de Couches.]
"I have just now received your letter, which you break off, as you
say, to go to the country; and then, you assume a tone as if you
were envious of me, who am here nearly overwhelmed by affairs and by
exertion! Ah, my dear friend, ... it is true, I am wrong. In the
spring it is so pleasant in the country; and then the beloved one of
eighteen years will be so happy there; how would it be possible to
lose one moment for the sake of writing to him who is three hundred
miles away from you, who lives, breathes, exists only in remembering
you, who reads your letters as a man, after hunting for six hours,
devours a meal he is fond of.
"I am satisfied. Your last letter is cold, like friendship. I have
not found in it the fire which glows in your eyes, the fire which I
have at least imagined to be there. So far runs my fancy. I found
that your first letters oppressed my soul too much; the revolution
which they created in me disturbed my peace and bewildered my
senses. I wanted letters more cold, and now they bring on me the
chill of death. The fear of being no more loved by Josephine - the
thought of having her inconstant - of seeing her ... But I martyrize
myself with anguish! There is enough in the reality, without
imagining any more! You cannot have inspired me with this
immeasurable love without sharing it; and with such a soul, such
thoughts, such an understanding as you possess, it is impossible
that, as a reward for the most glowing attachment and devotion, you
should return a mortal blow. ...
"You say nothing of your bodily sufferings; they have my regret.
Farewell till to-morrow, mio dolce amor. From my own wife a thought-
-and from fate a victory; these are all my wishes: one sole,
undivided thought from you, worthy of him who every moment thinks of
you.
"My brother is here. He has heard of my marriage with pleasure. He
longs to become acquainted with you. I am endeavoring to persuade
him to go to Paris, His wife has recently given birth to a daughter.
They send you a box of bonbons from Genoa as a present. You will
receive oranges, perfumes, and water of orange-flowers, which I send
you. Junot and Murat send their best wishes.
"N. B."
The victory which Bonaparte implored from his destiny was soon to
take place; and the battle of Mondovi, which followed the
capitulation of Cherasco, made Bonaparte master of Piedmont and of
the passes of the Alps. He sent his brother Joseph to Paris, to lay
before the Directory pressing considerations concerning the
necessity and importance of concluding a permanent peace with the
King of Sardinia, so as to isolate Austria entirely in Italy. At the
same time Junot was to take to the Directory the conquered
standards. Joseph and Junot travelled together from Nice by means of
post-horses, and they made so rapid a journey that in one hundred
and twenty hours they reached Paris.
The victor's messengers and the conquered flags were received in
Paris with shouts of rapture, and with a glowing enthusiasm for
General Bonaparte. His name was on every tongue. In the streets and
on the squares crowds gathered together to talk of the glorious
news, and to shout their acclamations to the brave army and its
general. Even the Directory, the five monarchs of France, shared the
universal joy and enthusiasm. They received Joseph and Junot with
affable complacency, and communicated to the army and to its general
public eulogies. In honor of the messengers who had brought the
standards and the propositions of peace, they gave a brilliant
banquet; and Carnot, proud of having been the one who had brought
about Bonaparte's appointment, went so far in his enthusiasm as at
the close of the banquet to tear his garments open and exhibit to
the assembled guests Napoleon's portrait which he carried on his
breast.
"Tell your brother," cried he to Joseph, "that I carry him here on
my heart, for I foresee he will be the deliverer of France, and
therefore he must know that in the Directory he has only admirers
and friends." [Footnote: "Memoires du Roi Joseph," vol. i., p. 62.]
But something else, more glorious than these salutations of love
from France and from the Directory, was to be brought back by his
messengers to the victorious commander-his wife, his Josephine; he
claimed her as the reward of battles won. Joseph was not only the
messenger of the general, he was also the messenger of the lover;
and before delivering his papers to the Directory, he had first, as
Bonaparte had ordered him, to deliver to Josephine his letter which
called her to Milan. Napoleon had thus written to her:
III.
"TO MY SWEET FRIEND!
"CAEN, the 3rd Floreal (May 24), 1796.
"My brother will hand you this letter. I cherish for him the most
intimate friendship. I trust he will also gain your affection. He
deserves it. Nature has gifted him with a tender and inexhaustibly
good character; he is full of rare qualities. I write to Barras to
have him appointed consul to some Italian port. He desires to live
with his little wife away from the world's great stream of events. I
recommend him to you.
"I have received your letters of the 16th and of the 21st. You have
indeed for many days forgotten to write. What, then, are you doing?
Yes, my dear friend, I am not exactly jealous, but I am sometimes
uneasy. Hasten, then, for I tell you beforehand that if you delay I
shall be sick. So great exertion, combined with your absence, is too
much.
"Your letters are the joys of my days, and my happy days are not too
many. Junot takes to Paris twenty-two standards. You will come back
with him, will you not? .... Misery without remedy, sorrow without
comfort, unmitigated anguish, will be my portion if it is my
misfortune to see him come back alone, my own adored wife! He will
see you, he will breathe at your shrine, and perhaps you will even
grant him the special and unsurpassed privilege of kissing your
cheeks, and I, I will be far, far away! You will come here, at my
side, to my heart, in my arms! Take wings, come, come! Yet, journey
slowly; the road is long, bad, fatiguing! If your carriage were to
upset, if some calamity were to happen, if the exertion. ... Set out
at once, my beloved one, but travel slowly!
"I have received a letter from Hortense, a very acceptable one
indeed. I am going to answer it. I love her much, and will soon send
her the perfumes she desires. N. B."
But Josephine could not meet at once the ardent wishes of her
husband. She had, on the receipt of his letter, made with Joseph all
the necessary preparations for the journey; but the ailment which
had so long troubled her, broke out, and a violent illness
prostrated her.
Bonaparte's suffering and anger at this news were unbounded; a
terrible restlessness and anxiety took possession of him, and, to
obtain speedy and reliable news from Josephine, he sent from Milan
to Paris a special courier, whose only business it was to carry a
letter to Josephine.
The general had nothing to communicate to the Directory; it was only
the lover writing to his beloved! What fire, what energy of passion,
penetrated him, is evident from the following letter:
IV.
"TORTONA, at noon, the 27th Prairial,
"In the Year IV. of the Republic (15th June, 1796).
"To Josephine: My life is a ceaseless Alpine burden. An oppressive
foreboding prevents me from breathing. I live no more, I have lost
more than life, more than happiness, more than rest! I am without
hope. I send you a courier. He will remain only four hours in Paris,
and return with your answer. Write me only ten lines; they will be
some comfort to me. ... You are sick, you love me, I have troubled
you; you are pregnant, and I cannot see you. This thought bewilders
me. I have done you so much wrong, that I know not how to make
amends for it. I found fault because you remained in Paris, and you
were sick! Forgive me, my beloved. The passion you have inspired in
me has taken my reason away; I cannot find it again. One is never
cured of this evil. My contemplations are so horrible, that it would
be a satisfaction to see you; to press you for two hours to my
heart, and then, to die together! Who takes care of you? I imagine
that you have sent for Hortense. I love this child a thousand times
more, when I think she can comfort you somewhat. As regards myself,
there will be no solace, no rest, no hope, before the courier whom I
have sent to you has returned, and you have told me in a long letter
the cause of your illness, and how serious it is. I tell you
beforehand that if it is dangerous I will at once go to Paris. My
presence would be called for by your sickness. I have always been
fortunate. Never has Fate stood against my wishes, and to-day it
strikes me where only wounds are possible. Josephine, how can you
delay so long in writing to me? Your last laconic note is dated the
3d of this month, and this adds to my sorrow. Yet I have it always
in my pocket. Your portrait and your letters are always under my
eyes.
"I am nothing without you. I can scarcely understand how I have
lived without knowing you. Ah, Josephine, if you know my heart,
could you remain without writing from the 29th of May to the 16th of
June, and not travel hither? Have you lent an ear to faithless
friends, who wish to keep you away from me? I am angry with the
whole world; I accuse every one round about you. I had calculated
that you would leave on the 5th, and be at Milan on the 15th.
"Josephine, if you love me, if you believe that all depends on the
recovery of your health, take good care of yourself. I dare not tell
you not to undertake so long a journey - not to travel in the heat,
if you possibly can move. Make small journeys; write to me at every
stopping-place, and send me each time your letters by a courier. ...
Your sickness troubles me by night and by day. Without appetite or
sleep, without regard for friendship, reputation, or country! - you
and you alone! The rest of the world exists no more for me than if
it were sunk into oblivion. I still cling to honor, for you hold to
it; to fame, for it is a joy to you; if it were not for this, I
would have abandoned every thing to hasten to your feet.
"Sometimes, I say to myself: 'I trouble myself without cause, she is
already well, she has left Paris and is on the way, she is perhaps
in Lyons.' ... Fruitless deception! You are in your bed, suffering -
more interesting - more worthy of adoration; you are pale, and your
eyes are more languishing than ever! when you are well again, if one
of us is to be sick, cannot I be the one? for I am stronger, I have
more vital power, and would therefore sooner conquer sickness. Fate
is cruel, it strikes me through you.
"What sometimes comforts me is to know that on fate depends your
sickness, but that it depends on no one to oblige me to outlive you.
"Be careful, my dearly-beloved one, to tell me in your letter that
you are convinced that I love you above all that can be conceived;
that never has it come to me to think of other women; that they are
all in my eyes without grace, beauty, or wit; that you, you
entirely, you as I see you, as you are, can please me and fetter all
the powers of my soul; that you have grasped it in all its
immeasurableness; that my heart has no folds closed from your eyes,
no thoughts which belong not to you; that my energies, arms, mind,
every thing in me, is subject to you; that my spirit lives in your
body; that the day when you will be inconstant or when you will
cease to live, will be the day of my death, and that nature and
earth are beautiful to my eyes only because you live in them. If you
do not believe all this, if your soul is not convinced of it,
penetrated with it, then I am deceived in you, then you love me no
more. A magnetic fluid runs between persons who love one another.
You know that I could never see, much less could I endure, a lover:
to see him and to tear his heart would be one and the same thing;
and then I might even lay hands on your sacred person. ... no, I
would never dare do it, but I would fly from a world where those I
deem the most virtuous have deceived me.
"But I am certain of your love, and proud of it. Accidents are
probations which keep alive all the energies of our mutual
affections. My adored one, you will give birth to a child resembling
his mother; it will pass many years in your arms. Unfortunate that I
am, I would be satisfied with one day! A thousand kisses on your
eyes and lips! .... adored wife, how mighty is your spell! I am ill
on account of your illness. I have a burning fever. Retain the
courier no longer than six hours; then let him return, that he may
bring me a letter from my sovereign. N. B."
These were the first letters which Josephine received from her
loving, tender husband. They are a splendid monument of affection
with which love adorns the solitary grave of the departed empress;
and surely in the dark hours of her life, the remembrance of these
days of happiness, of these letters so full of passionate ardor,
must have alleviated the bitterness of her grief and given her the
consolation that at least she was once loved as perhaps no other
woman on earth can boast! All these letters of Bonaparte, during the
days of his first prosperity, and of his earnest cravings, Josephine
had carefully gathered; they were to be, amid the precious and
costly treasures which the future was to lay at her feet, the most
glorious and most prized, and which she preserved with sacred
loyalty as long as she lived.
This is the reason that, out of all the letters which Bonaparte
wrote to Josephine during long years, not one is lost; that there is
no gap in the correspondence, and that we can with complete
certainty, from week to week and year to year, follow the relations
which existed between them, and that the thermometer can be placed
on Bonaparte's heart to observe how by degrees the heat diminishes,
the warmth of passion disappears into the cool temperature of a
quiet friendship, and how it never sinks to cold indifference, even
when Josephine had to yield to the young and proud daughter of
Austria, and give up her place at the side of the emperor.
Of all the letters of Josephine to Bonaparte, which were now so
glowing that they seemed to devour him with flames of fire and
bewildered his senses, and then so cold and indifferent that they
caused the chill of death to pass over his frame - of all these, not
one has been preserved to posterity. Perhaps the Emperor Napoleon
destroyed them; when in the Tuileries he received Josephine's
successor, his second wife, and when he endeavored to destroy in his
own proud heart the memory of the beautiful, happy past, he there
destroyed those letters, that they might return to dust, even as his
own love had returned.
CHAPTER XXV.
JOSEPHINE IN ITALY.
Bonaparte's letter, which the courier brought to Josephine, found
her recovered, and ready to follow her husband's call, and go to
Milan. But she was deprived of one precious and joyous hope: the
child, which Bonaparte so much envied because it would pass many
years in Josephine's arms, was never to be born.
In the last days of the month of June Josephine arrived in Milan.
Her whole journey had been one uninterrupted triumph. In Turin, at
the court of the King of Sardinia, she had received the homage of
the people as if she were the wife of a mighty ruler; and wherever
she went, she was received with honors and distinction. To Turin
Bonaparte had sent before him one of his adjutants, General Marmont,
afterward Duke de Ragusa, to convey to her his kindest regards and
to accompany her with a military escort as far as Milan. In the
palace de Serbelloni, his residence in Milan, adorned as for a
feast, Bonaparte received her with a countenance radiant with joy
and happy smiles such as seldom brightened his pale, gloomy
features.
But Bonaparte had neither much time nor leisure to devote to his
domestic happiness, to his long-expected reunion with Josephine.
Only three days could the happy lover obtain from the restless
commander; then he had to tear himself away from his sweet repose,
to carry on further the deadly strife which he had begun in Italy
against Austria - which had decided not to give away one foot of
Lombardy without a struggle - and not to submit to the conqueror of
Lodi. A new army was marched into Italy under the command of General
Wurmser, the same against whom, three years before, on the shores of
the Rhine, Alexandre de Beauharnais had fought in vain. At the head
of sixty thousand men Wurmser moved into Italy to relieve Mantua,
besieged by the French.
This alarming news awoke Bonaparte out of his dream of love, and
neither Josephine's tears nor prayers could keep him back. He sent
couriers to Paris, to implore from the Directory fresh troops and
more money, to continue the campaign. The Directory answered him
with the proposition to divide the army of Italy into two columns,
one of which would act under the commander-in-chief, General
Kellermann, the other under Bonaparte.
But this proposition, which the jealous Directory made for the sake
of breaking the growing power of Bonaparte, only served to lift him
a step higher in his path to the brilliant career which he alone, in
the depths of his heart, had traced, and the secret of which his
closed lips would reveal to no one.
Bonaparte's answer to this proposition of the Directory was, that if
the power were to be divided, he could only refuse the half of this
division, and would retire entirely from command.
He wrote to Carnot: "It is a matter of indifference to me whether I
carry on the war here or elsewhere. To serve my country, and deserve
from posterity one page of history, is all my ambition! If both I
and Kellermann command in Italy, then all is lost. General
Kellermann has more experience than I, and will carry on the war
more ably. But the matter can only be badly managed if we both
command. It is no pleasure for me to serve with a man whom Europe
considers the first general of the age."
Carnot showed this letter to the Directory, and declared that if
Bonaparte were to be given up, he would himself resign his position
of secretary of war. The Directory was not prepared to accept this
twofold responsibility, and they sacrificed Kellermann to the
threats of Napoleon and Carnot.
General Bonaparte was confirmed in his position of commander-in-
chief of the army in Italy, even for the future, and the conduct of
the war was left in his hands alone.
With this fresh triumph over his enemies at home, Bonaparte marched
from Milan to fight the re-enforced enemy of France in Italy.
On this new war-path, amid dangers and conflicts, the tumults of the
fight, the noise of the camp, the confusion of the bivouac, the
young general did not for one moment forget the wife he so
passionately loved. Nearly every day he wrote to her, and those
letters, which were often written between the dictation of the
battle's plan, the dispatches to the Directory, and the impending
conflict, were faithful waymarks, whose directions it is easy to
follow, and thus trace the whole successful course of the hero of
Italy.
To refer here to Bonaparte's letters to Josephine, implies at once
the mention of Bonaparte's deeds and of Josephine's happiness. The
first letter which he wrote after the interview in Milan is from
Roverbella, and it tells her in a few words that he has just now
beaten the foe, and that he is going to Verona. The second is also
short and hastily written, but is full of many delicate assurances
of love, and also that he has met and defeated the foe at Verona.
The third letter is from Marmirolo, and shows that Bonaparte,
notwithstanding his constant changes of position, had taken the
precautions that Josephine's letters should everywhere follow him;
for in Marmirolo he received one, and this tender letter filled him
with so much joy, thanks, and longings, that, in virtue of it, he
forgets conquests and triumphs entirely, and is only the longing,
tender lover. He writes:
"MARMIROLO, the 29th Messidor, 9 in the evening "(July 17), 1796.
"I am just now in receipt of your letter, my adored one; it has
filled my heart with joy. I am thankful for the pains you have taken
to send me news about yourself; with your improved health, all will
be well; I am convinced that you have now recovered. I would impress
upon you the duty of riding often; this will be a healthy exercise
for you.
"Since I left you I am forever sorrowful. My happiness consists in
being near you. Constantly does my memory renew your kisses, your
tears, your amiable jealousy; and the charms of the incomparable
Josephine kindle incessantly a burning flame within my heart and
throughout my senses. When shall I, free from all disturbance and
care, pass all my moments with you, and have nothing to do but to
love, nothing to think of but the happiness to tell it and prove it
to you? I am going to send you your horse, and I trust you will soon
be able to be with me. A few days ago I thought I loved you, but
since I have seen you again, I feel that I love you a thousand times
more. Since I knew you, I worship you more and more every day; this
proves the falsity of La Bruyere's maxim, which says that love
springs up all at once. Every thing in nature has its growth in
different degrees. Ah, I implore you, let me see some of your
faults; be then less beautiful, less graceful, less tender, less
good; especially be never tender, never weep: your tears deprive me
of my reason, and change my blood into fire. Believe me, that it is
not in my power to have a single thought which concerns you not, or
an idea which is not subservient to you.
"Keep very quiet. Recover soon your health. Come to me, that at
least before dying we may say, 'We were happy so many, many days!'
"Millions of kisses even for Fortune, notwithstanding its
naughtiness. [Footnote: Fortune was that little peevish dog which,
when Josephine was in prison, served as love-messenger between her
and her children.] BONAPARTE."
But this letter, full of tenderness and warmth, is not yet enough
for the ardent lover; it does not express sufficiently his longing,
his love. The very next day, from the same quarters of Marmirolo, he
writes something like a postscript to the missive of the previous
day. He tells her that he has made an attack upon Mantua, but that a
sudden fall of the waters of the lake had delayed his troops already
embarked, and that this day he is going to try again in some other
way; that the enemy a few days past had made a sortie and killed a
few hundred men, but that they themselves, with considerable loss,
had to retreat rapidly into the fortress, and that three Neapolitan
regiments had entered Brescia. But between each of these sentences
intervene some strong assurance of his love, some tender or
flattering words; and finally, at the end of the letter, comes the
principal object, the cause why it was written. The tender lover
wanted some token from his beloved: it is not enough for him always
to carry her portrait and her letters, he must also have a lock of
her hair. He writes:
"I have lost my snuffbox; I pray you find me another, somewhat more
flat, and pray have something pretty written upon it, with a lock of
your hair. A thousand burning kisses, since you are so cold, love
unbounded, and faithfulness beyond all proof."
Two days afterward he writes again from Marmirolo, at first hastily,
a few words about the war, then he comes to the main point. He has
been guilty, toward Josephine, of a want of politeness, and, with
all the tenderness and humility of a lover, he asks forgiveness. Her
pardon and her constant tardiness in answering his letters, are to
him more weighty matters than all the battles and victories of his
restless camp-life, and therefore he begins at once with a complaint
at his separation from her.
"MARMIROLO, the 1st Thermidor, Year IV. (July 19, 1796.) "For the
last two days I am without letters from you. This remark I have
repeated thirty times; you feel that this for me is sad. You cannot,
however, doubt of the tenderness and undivided solicitude with which
you inspire me."
"We attacked Mantua yesterday. We opened upon it, from two
batteries, a fire of shells and red-hot balls. The whole night the
unfortunate city was burning. The spectacle was terrible and
sublime. We have taken possession of numerous outworks, and we open
the trenches to-night. To-morrow we make our headquarters at
Castiglione, and think of passing the night there."
"I have received a courier from Paris. He brought two letters for
you: I have read them. Though this action seems to me very simple,
as you gave me permission so to do, yet, I fear, it will annoy you,
and that troubles me exceedingly. I wanted at first to seal them
over again; but, pshaw! that would have been horrible. If I am
guilty, I beg your pardon. I swear to you I did it not through
jealousy; no, certainly not; I have of my adored one too high an
opinion to indulge in such a feeling. I wish you would once for all
allow me to read your letters; then I should not have any twittings
of conscience or fear."
"Achilles, the courier, has arrived from Milan; no letter from my
adored one! Farewell, my sole happiness! When will you come, and be
with me? I shall have to fetch you from Milan myself."
"A thousand kisses, burning as my heart, pure as yours!"
"I have sent for the courier; he says he was at your residence, and
that you had nothing to say, nothing to order! Fie! wicked, hateful,
cruel tyrant! - pretty little monster! You laugh at my threats and my
madness; ah, you know very well that if I could shut you up in my
heart, I would keep you there a prisoner."
"Let me know that you are cheerful, right well, and loving!"
"BONAPARTE."
But Josephine seems not to have answered this letter as Napoleon
desired. She knew that it was nothing but unfounded jealousy which
had induced him to read the letters sent to her, and to punish him
for this jealousy she forbade him to read her letters in the future.
But while she reproached him in a jesting manner, and punished him
for this jealousy, she, herself, with all the inconsistency of a
lover, fell into the same fault, and could not hide from him the
jealous fears which the ladies from Brescia, especially the
beautiful Madame de Te - - , had created within her mind. Bonaparte
answered this letter as general, lover, and husband; he gives an
account of his war operations, submits to her will as a lover, and
commands her as a husband to come to him in Brescia.
"CASTIGLIONE, the 4th Thermidor, Year IV. (July 22, 1796).
"The wants of the army require my presence in these parts; it is
impossible for me to go so far away as Milan; it would require for
that purpose five or six days, and during that time circumstances
might arise which would make my presence here absolutely necessary.
"You assure me that your health is now good; consequently, I pray
you to come to Brescia. At this moment I am sending Murat into the
city to prepare you such a house as you wish.
"I believe that you can very well sleep in Cassano on the 6th, if
you leave Milan late, so as to be in Brescia on the 7th, where the
most tender of lovers awaits you. I am in despair that you can
believe, my dear friend, that my heart can be drawn toward any one
but yourself; it belongs to you by right of conquest, and will be
enduring and ever-lasting. I do not understand why you speak of
Madame de Te - - . I trouble myself no more about her than any other
woman in Brescia. Since it annoys you that I open your letters, the
enclosed one will be the last that I open; your letter did not reach
me till after I had opened this.
"Farewell, my tender one; send me often your news. Break up at once
and come to me, and be happy without disquietude; all is well, and
my heart belongs to you for life.
"Be sure to return to the Adjutant Miollis the box of medallions
which, as he writes, he has given you. There are so many babbling
and bad tongues, that it is necessary to be always on one's guard.
"Health, love, and speedy arrival in Brescia!
"I have in Milan a carriage which is suited for city and country;
use it on your journey. Bring your silver and a few necessary
things. Travel by short stages, and during the cool of the morning
and evening, so as not to weary you too much. The troops need only
three days to reach Brescia, a distance of fourteen miles. I beg of
you to pass the night of the 6th in Cassano; on the 7th I will come
to meet you as far as possible.
"Farewell, my Josephine; a thousand tender kisses!
"BONAPARTE."
Josephine gladly obeyed the wishes of her husband, and exactly on
the 7th Thermidor (July 25) she entered Brescia. Bonaparte had
ridden an hour's distance to meet her, and, amid the shouts of the
population, he led her in triumph into the house prepared for her
reception.
Three days were allowed to the general to enjoy his happiness and
Josephine's presence. On the 28th of July he received the
intelligence that Wurmser was advancing, and that he was in
Marmirolo. At once Bonaparte broke up from Brescia, to meet him and
offer battle.
Brescia was no longer a dwelling-place for Josephine now that the
enemy threatened it; she therefore accompanied her husband, and the
effeminate creole, the tender Parisian, accustomed to all the
comforts of life, the lady surrounded by numerous attendants in
Milan, saw herself at once obliged, as the true wife of a soldier,
to share with her husband all the hardships, inconveniences, and
dangers of a campaign.
The news of the advance of the Austrians became more and more
precise. No sooner had Bonaparte arrived in Peschiera with his
Josephine, than he learned that Montevaldo was attacked by the
enemy. In great haste they pursued their journey; the next day they
reached Verona, but Wurmser had been equally swift in his movements,
and on the heights surrounding Verona were seen the light troops of
Austria.
Even a serious skirmish at the outposts took place, and Josephine,
against her will, had to be the witness of this horrible, cannibal
murder, which we are pleased to call war.
Bonaparte, who had preceded his army, was forced to retreat from
Verona, and went with Josephine to Castel Nuovo, where the majority
of his troops were stationed. But it was a fearful journey, beset
with dangers. Everywhere on the road lay the dying and the wounded
who had remained behind after the different conflicts, and who with
difficulty were crawling along to meet the army. Josephine's
sensitive heart was painfully moved by the spectacle of these
sufferings and these bleeding wounds. Napoleon noticed it on her
pale cheeks and trembling lips, and in the tears which stood in her
eyes. Besides which, a great battle was at hand, threatening her
with new horrors. To guard her from them, Bonaparte made another
sacrifice to his love, and resolved to part from her.
She was to return to Brescia, while Napoleon, with his army, would
meet the foe. With a thousand assurances of love, and the most
tender vows, he took leave of Josephine, and she mastered herself so
as to repress her anxiety and timidity, and to appear collected and
brave. With a smile on her lip she bade him farewell, and began the
journey, accompanied by a few well-armed horsemen, whom Bonaparte,
in the most stringent terms, commanded not to leave his wife's
carriage for an instant, and in case of attack to defend her with
their lives.
At first the journey was attended with no danger, and Josephine's
heart began to beat with less anxiety; she already believed herself
in safety. Suddenly, from a neighboring coppice, there rushed out a
division of the enemy's cavalry; already were distinctly heard the
shouts and cries with which they dashed toward the advancing
carriage. To oppose this vast number of assailants was not to be
thought of; only the most rapid flight could save them.
The carriage was turned; the driver jumped upon the horses, and, in
a mad gallop, onward it sped. To the swiftness of the horses
Josephine owed her escape. She reached headquarters safely, and was
received by Bonaparte with loud demonstrations of joy at her
unexpected return.
But Josephine had not the strength to conceal the anxiety of her
heart, her fears and alarms. These horrible scenes of war, the sight
of the wounded, the dangers she had lately incurred, the fearful
preparations for fresh murders and massacres - all this troubled her
mind so violently that she lost at once all courage and composure. A
nervous trembling agitated her whole frame, and, not being able to
control her agony, she broke into loud weeping.
Bonaparte embraced her tenderly, and as he kissed the tears from her
cheeks, he cried out, with a threatening flash in his eyes, "Wurmser
will pay dearly for the tears he has caused!" [Footnote: Bonaparte's
words. - "Memorial de Ste. Helene," vol. i., p. 174.]
It was, however, a fortunate accident that the enemy's cavalry had
hindered Josephine from reaching Brescia. A quarter of an hour after
her return to headquarters the news arrived that the Austrians had
advanced into Brescia. Meanwhile Josephine had already regained all
her courage and steadfastness; she declared herself ready to abide
by her husband, to bear with him the dangers and the fatigues of the
campaign; that she wished to be with him, as it behooved the wife of
a soldier.
But Bonaparte felt that her company would cripple his courage and
embarrass his movements. Josephine once more had to leave him, so
that the tender lover might not disturb the keen commanding general,
and that his head and not his heart might decide the necessary
measures.
He persuaded Josephine to leave him, and to retire into one of the
central cities of Italy. She acceded to his wishes, and travelled
away toward Florence. But, to reach that city, it was necessary to
pass Mantua, which the French were investing. Her road passed near
the walls of the besieged city, and one of the balls, which were
whizzing around the carriage, struck one of the soldiers of her
escort and wounded him mortally. It was a dangerous, fearful
journey - war's confusion everywhere, wild shouts, fleeing,
complaining farmers, constant cries of distress, anxiety, and want.
But Josephine had armed her heart with great courage and resolution;
she shrank from no danger, she overcame it all; she already had an
undaunted confidence in her husband's destiny, and believed in the
star of his prosperity.
And this star led her on happily through all dangers, and protected
her throughout this reckless and daring journey. Through Bologna and
Ferrara, she came at last to Lucca; there to rest a few days from
her hardships and anxieties. There, in Lucca, she was to experience
the proud satisfaction of being witness of the deep confidence which
had struck root in the heart of the Italians, in reference to the
success of the French commander-in-chief. Though it was well known
that Wurmser, with a superior force, was advancing against General
Bonaparte, and his hungry, tattered troops, and that they were on
the eve of a battle which, according to all appearances, promised to
Napoleon a complete defeat, and to the Austrians a decisive victory,
the town of Lucca was not afraid to give to the wife of Bonaparte a
grand and public reception. The senate of Lucca received her with
all the marks of distinction shown only to princesses; the senate
came to her in official ceremony, and brought her as a gift of
honor, in costly gold flasks, the produce of their land, the fine
oil of Lucca.
Josephine received these marks of honor with that grace and
amiability with which she won all hearts, and, with her enchanting
smile, thanking the senators, she told them, with all the confidence
of a lover, that her victorious husband would, for the magnificent
hospitality thus shown her, manifest his gratitude to the town of
Lucca by the prosperity and liberty which he was ready to conquer
for Italy.
This confidence was shortly to be justified. No sooner had Josephine
arrived in Florence, whither she had come from Lucca, than the news
of the victory of the French army, commanded by her husband, reached
there also.
Suddenly abandoning the siege of Mantua, Bonaparte had gathered
together all his forces, and with them he dealt blow after blow upon
the three divisions of the army corps of Wurmser, until he had
completely defeated them. The battles of Lonato and Castiglione were
the fresh trophies of his fame. On the 10th of August Bonaparte made
his victorious entry into Brescia, which only twelve days before he
had been suddenly obliged to abandon with his Josephine, to whom he
had then been barely reunited, and was still luxuriating in the
bliss of her presence.
Bonaparte had fulfilled his word: he had revenged Josephine, and
Wurmser had indeed paid dearly for the tears which he had caused
Josephine to shed!
But after these days of storm and danger, the two lovers were to
enjoy a few weeks of mutual happiness and of splendid triumphs.
Josephine had returned from Florence to Milan, and thither Bonaparte
came also in the middle of August, to rest in her arms after his
battles and victories.
CHAPTER XXVI.
BONAPARTE AND JOSEPHINE IN MILAN.
The days of armistice which Bonaparte passed in Milan were
accompanied by festivities, enjoyments, and triumphs of all kinds.
All Milan and Lombardy streamed forth to present their homage to the
deliverer of Italy and to his charming, gracious wife; to give
feasts in their honor, to praise them in enthusiastic songs, to
celebrate their fame in concerts, serenades, and illuminations.
The palace Serbelloni served Italy's deliverer once more as a
residence, and it was well calculated for this on account of its
vastness and elegance. This was one of the most beautiful buildings
among the palaces of Milan. Over its massive lower structure, and
its rez-de chaussee of red granite, sparkling in the sun with its
play of many colors, arose bold and steep its light and graceful
facade. The interior of this beautiful palace of the Dukes of
Serbelloni was adorned with all the splendors which sculpture and
painting gathered into the palaces of the Italian nobility.
In those halls, whose roofs were richly decorated and gilded, and
supported by white columns of marble, and whose walls were covered
with those splendid and enormous mirrors which the republic of
Venice alone then manufactured; and from whose tall windows hung
down in long, heavy folds curtains of purple velvet, embroidered
with gold, the work of the famous artisans of Milan - in those
brilliant halls the happy couple, Bonaparte and Josephine, received