Martin, who had overheard that she 'had deafened the ears of every
one with the story of her stolen shawl,' rushed in to the rescue of
her case.
"'This cashmere belongs to me,' said she, haughtily - seizing, at the
same time, the shawl with one hand, while the young lady with her
fist thrust her back violently. I saw that in a moment they would
come to blows.
"'It will be easy to end this difficulty,' said I to the Countess de
St. Martin. 'Madame will be kind enough to tell us where she has
purchased this shawl which is so much like yours, and then you will
see your mistake, and be satisfied.'
"'It does not suit me to tell where I got this shawl,' replied the
lady, looking at me contemptuously; 'there is no necessity for my
telling you where I purchased it.'
"'Well, then,' exclaimed eagerly the Countess de St. Martin, 'you
confess, madame, that the shawl really belongs to you?'
"The other answered with a sarcastic smile, and drew the shawl
closer to her shoulders. A few persons, attracted by the strangeness
of such a scene, had gathered around us, and seemed to wait for the
end of so extraordinary an event.
"The countess continued with a loud voice:
"'Well, then, madame, since the shawl belongs to you, you can
explain to me why the name of Christine, which is my first name, is
embroidered in red silk on the small edging. Madame Junot will be
kind enough to look for this name.'
"The young woman became pale as death. I shall never during my life
forget the despairing look which she gave me, as with trembling hand
she passed me the shawl, just as her father appeared from a room
near the place of the scene. I took the cashmere with an unsteady
hand, and sought reluctantly for the name of Christine, for I
trusted she would at least have taken it out; but the deathly
paleness of the guilty one told the contrary, and in fact I had no
sooner unfolded the shawl, than the name appeared, embroidered at
the narrow edging.
"'Ah!' at last exclaimed the countess, in a triumphant tone, 'I
have - ' but as she raised her eyes to the young woman, she was
touched by her despairing look. 'Well, then,' cried she, 'this is
one of those mistakes which so often happen. To-morrow I will return
your cashmere. - We have exchanged cashmeres,' said she, turning to
the young lady's father, who, surprised at seeing her naked
shoulders, gazed at his daughter, not understanding the matter. 'You
will have the goodness to send me my shawl to-morrow,' added she,
noticing how the young woman trembled.
"We returned into the ballroom, and the next day the young lady sent
to the Countess de St. Martin her precious shawl.
"Something similar to this happened at the same time to Madame
Hamelin. She was at a ball; when rising from her seat to join in a
contra-dance, she left there a very beautiful black shawl; when she
returned, her shawl was no longer there, but she saw it on the
shoulders of a well-known and distinguished lady. Approaching her,
she said:
"'Madame, you have my shawl!'
"'Not at all, madame!'
"'But, madame, this is my shawl, and, as an evidence, I can state
the number of its palms - it has exactly thirteen, a very unusual
number!'
"'My shawl has also, by chance, precisely thirteen palms.'
"'But,' said Madame Hamelin, 'I have torn it since I came here. You
can see where it is torn, and by that means I recognize my shawl.'
"'Ah, my goodness! my shawl has also been torn; that is precisely
why I bought it, for I obtained it on that account somewhat
cheaper.'
"It is useless to dispute with a person who is determined to follow
Basil's receipt, that 'what is worth taking is worth keeping.'
Madame Hamelin lost her shawl, and had, as a sole consolation, the
petty vengeance of relating to everybody how it was taken, and of
pointing out the thief, who was in the meanwhile perfectly
shameless." [Footnote: Abrantes, "Memoires," vol. ix., pp. 70-76.]
No one, however, had a larger and more choice selection of these
cashmere shawls than Josephine. Mdlle. Ducrest relates that the
deceased empress had more than one hundred and fifty of the most
magnificent and costly cashmere shawls. She had sent to
Constantinople patterns from which she had them made there, as
pleasing to the eye as they were costly and precious. Every week M.
Lenormant, the first man-milliner in Paris, came to Navarra, the
country residence of the empress, and brought his most beautiful
shawls for her selection. The empress possessed several (having a
white ground covered with roses, violets, paroquets, peacocks, and
other objects of beauty hitherto unknown in France) each of which
cost from fifteen to twenty thousand francs.
The empress went so far in her passion for cashmeres as to have
dresses made of the same material. One day she had put on one of
these dresses, which was so beautiful, that some gentlemen invited
to dinner could not withhold their admiration. One of them, Count
Pourtales, thought that this splendid material would be well adapted
for a gentleman's vest. Josephine, in her large-heartedness, had a
pair of scissors brought; she then cut her dress into several pieces
sufficiently large for a vest, and divided them among the gentlemen
present, so that only the bodice of the dress remained, with a small
piece around the waist But this improvised spencer over the white
richly-embroidered under-dress, was so exceedingly becoming to the
empress, and brought out so exquisitely her beautiful bust, and
slender graceful waist, that it would have been easy to consider as
a piece of coquetry what was simply Josephine's spontaneous
generosity. [Footnote: Mademoiselle Ducrest.]
Josephine, however, did not so assiduously attend to her cashmere
shawls as to forget the unfortunate victims of the infernal machine.
On the contrary, she saw with deep pain how every one was busy in
inculpating others, and in casting suspicions on royalists and
Jacobins, so as to give a pretext to punish them. She noticed that
all those who wished to gain the consul's favor were zealous in
spying out fresh culprits, for it was well known that Bonaparte was
inclined to make of all hostile parties a terrible example, so that,
through the severity of the punishment and the number of the
punished, he might deter the dissatisfied from any further plots.
Josephine's compassionate heart was distressed, through sympathy for
so many unfortunate persons, whom wicked men maliciously were
endeavoring to drag into guilt, so as to have them punished; and the
injustice which the judges manifested at every hearing filled her
with anger and horror. Ever ready to help the needy, and to protect
the persecuted, she addressed herself to Fouche, the minister of
police, and requested him to use mildness and compassion. She wrote
to him:
"Citizen minister, while trembling at the frightful calamity which
has taken place, I feel uneasy and pained at the fear of the
punishments which hang over the poor creatures who, I am told,
belong to families with which I have been connected in days past. I
shall therefore be appealed to by mothers, sisters, and despairing
wives; my heart will be lacerated by the sad consciousness that I
cannot obtain pardon for all those who implore it.
"The generosity of the consul is great, his affection for me is
boundless, I know it well; but the crime is of so awful a nature
that he will deem it necessary to make an example of extreme
severity. The supreme magistrate was not alone exposed to danger -
many others were killed and wounded by this sad event, and it is
this which will make the consul severe and implacable.
"I conjure you, then, citizen minister, to avoid extending your
researches too far, and not always to spy out new persons who might
be compromised by this horrible machine. Must France, which has been
held in terror by so many executions, have to sigh over new victims?
Is it not much more important to appease the minds of the people
than to excite them by new terrors? Finally, would it not be
advisable, so soon as the originators of this awful crime are
captured, to have compassion and mercy upon subordinate persons who
may have been entangled in it through dangerous sophisms and
fanatical sentiments?
"Barely vested with the supreme authority, ought not the first
consul study to win the hearts rather than to make slaves of his
people? Moderate, therefore, by your advice, where in his first
excitement he may be too severe. To punish is, alas, too often
necessary! To pardon is, I trust, still more. In a word, be a
protector to the unfortunate who, through their confession or
repentance, have already made in part penance for their guilt.
"As I myself, without any fault on my part, nearly lost my life in
the revolution, you can easily understand that I take an interest in
those who can perhaps be saved without thereby endangering my
husband's life, which is so precious to me and to France. I
therefore earnestly desire that you will make a distinction between
the leaders of this conspiracy and those who, from fear or weakness,
have been seduced into bringing upon themselves a portion of the
guilt. As a woman, a wife, a mother, I can readily feel for all the
heart-rending agonies of those families which appeal to me.
"Do what you possibly can, citizen minister, to diminish their
numbers; you will thereby spare me much anxiety. I can never be deaf
to the cries of distress from the needy; but in this matter you can
do a great deal more than I can, and therefore pardon what may seem
strange in my pleadings with you.
"Believe in my gratitude and loyalty of sentiment.
"JOSEPHINE." [Footnote: Ducrest, "Memoires," vol. iii., p. 231.]
CHAPTER XXXVI.
MALMAISON.
In the Tuileries the first consul, with his wife, resided in all the
pomp and dignity of his new office. There he was the sovereign, the
commander; there he ruled, and, like a king, all bowed to him; the
people humbled themselves and recognized him as their master.
In the Tuileries etiquette and the stiff pomp of a princely court
prevailed more and more. Bonaparte required of his wife that she
should there represent the dignity and the grandeur of her new
position; that she should appear as the first, the most exalted, and
the most unapproachable of women. In the Tuileries there were no
more evenings of pleasant social gatherings, of joyous conversation
with friends whom affection made equals, and who, in love and
admiration, recognizing Bonaparte's ascendency, brought him of their
own free choice their esteem and high consideration. Now, it was all
honor and duty; now, the friends of the past wore servants who, for
duty's sake, had to be subservient to their master, and abide by the
rules of etiquette, otherwise the frown on their lofty ruler's brow
would bring them back within their bounds.
Josephine was pained at these limits set to her personal freedom - at
these claims of etiquette, which did not permit her friends to
remain at her side, but strove to exalt above them the wife of the
first consul. Her sense of modesty ever accepted the pleasant,
genial household affections as more agreeable and more precious than
the burdensome representations, levees, and the tediousness of
ceremonial receptions; her sense of modesty longed for the quiet and
repose of retirement, and she was happy when, at the close of the
court festivities, she could return to Malmaison, there to enjoy the
coming of spring, the blossoming of summer, and the glorious beauty
of autumn with its manifold colors.
In Malmaison were centered all her joys and pleasures. There she
could satisfy all the inclinations of her heart, all the fancies of
her imagination, all the wants of her mind; there she could be the
tender wife and mother, and the faithful friend; there she could
receive, without the annoyance of etiquette, men of learning and
art; there she could cultivate the soil and devote herself to
botany, her favorite study, and to her flowers, the dearest and most
faithful friends of her whole life.
Josephine sought for and found in Malmaison her earthly paradise;
there she was happy, and the care and the secret anguish which in
Paris wove around her heart its network, and every now and then
whispered the nefarious words of divorce and separation, followed
her not in the beautiful and friendly Malmaison; she left all this
in Paris with the stiff Madame Etiquette, who once in the Tuileries
had poisoned the existence of the Queen Marie Antoinette, and now
sought to intrude herself upon the consulate as an ill-tempered
sovereign.
But in Malmaison there was no etiquette, none of the dignified
coldness of court-life. There you were allowed to laugh, to jest,
and to be happy. In Malmaison the first consul laid aside his
gravity; there his gloomy brow brightened, and he became again
General Bonaparte, the lover of his Josephine, the confidential
companion of his friends, the harmless individual, who seemed to
have nothing to require from Heaven but the happiness of the passing
hour, and who could laugh at a joke with the same guilelessuess as
any other child of the people who never deemed it necessary to
cultivate a close intimacy with the grave and gloomy Madame
Politique.
It is true Malmaison was not Bonaparte's sole country residence. The
city of Paris had presented him with the pleasure-castle of St.
Cloud, the same which Louis XVI. gave to his wife, and where, to the
very great annoyance of the proud Parisians, she had for the first
time engraven on the regulation-tablets, at the entrance of the
park, the fatal words - "De par la Reine."
Now this royal mansion of pleasure belonged to the first consul of
the republic; it was his summer residence, but there he was still
the consul, the first magistrate, and the representative of France;
and he had there to give receptions, hold levees, receive the
ministers, councillors of state, and the foreign ambassadors, and
appear in all the pomp and circumstance of his position.
But in Malmaison his countenance and his being were changed. Here he
was the cheerful man, enjoying life; he was the joyous companion,
the modest land-owner, who with genial delight surveyed the produce
of his soil, and even calculated how much profit it could bring him.
"The first consul in Malmaison," said the English minister, Fox,
"the first consul in St. Cloud, and the first consul in the
Tuileries, are three different persons, who together form that great
and wonderful idea; I should exceedingly like to be able to
represent exactly after nature these three portraits; they must be
very much alike, and yet very different."
It is certain, however, that of these three portraits that of the
first consul in Malmaison was the most amiable, and that of the
first consul of the Tuileries the most imposing.
In Malmaison Bonaparte's countenance was cheerful and free from
care; in the Tuileries he was grave and dignified. On his clouded
brow were enthroned great designs; from the deep, dark eyes shot
lightnings ready to fire a world - to erect or destroy kingdoms. In
Malmaison these eyes with cheerful brilliancy reposed on Josephine;
his otherwise earnest lips welcomed there the beloved of his heart
with merry pleasantry and spirited raillery; there he loved to see
Josephine in simple, modest toilet; and if in the lofty halls of the
Tuileries he exacted from the wife of the first consul a brilliant
toilet, the bejewelled magnificence of the first lady of France, he
was delighted when in Malmaison he saw coming through the green
foliage the wife of General Bonaparte in simple white muslin, with a
laughing countenance; and with her sweet voice, which he still
considered as the finest music he ever heard, she bade welcome to
her husband who here was changed into her tender lover.
In Malmaison, Bonaparte would even put off his general's uniform,
and, in his plain gray coat of a soldier, walk through the park in
the neighborhood, resting on the arm of his confidant, Duroc, and
would begin a friendly conversation with the first farmer he met,
perfectly satisfied when in the little man with the gray tightly-
buttoned coat, no one suspected or imagined to see the first consul
of the republic.
Every Saturday the first consul hastened to the chateau to pass
there, as he said, his Sunday, his day of rest; and only on Monday
morning did he return to Paris, "to take up his chain again."
How genial and happy were these days of rest! How eagerly did
Josephine labor to make them days of felicity for Bonaparte! how
ingenious to prepare for him new festivities and new surprises! and
how her eyes brightened when she had succeeded in making Bonaparte
joyous and contented!
If the weather was favorable, the whole company in Malmaison, the
young generals, with their beautiful, young, and lively wives, who
surrounded Bonaparte and Josephine, and of whom a great number
belonged to their family, made promenades through the park, then
they seated themselves on a fine spot to repeat stories or to
indulge in harmless sociable games, in which Bonaparte with the most
cheerful alacrity took part. Even down to the game of "catch" and to
that of "room-renting" did Bonaparte condescend to play; and as
Marie Antoinette with her husband and her court played at
blindman's-buff in the gardens of Trianon, so Bonaparte was pleased
on the lawns of Malmaison to play at "room-renting."
How often after a dark, cloudy morning, when suddenly at noon the
skies would become clear and the sunshine break through the clouds,
would Bonaparte's countenance gladden with all the spirit of a
school-boy, in the midst of holidays, and, throwing off his coat,
laughingly exclaim, "Now come, one and all, and let us rent the
room!"
And then on the large, open lawn, surrounded on all sides by tall
trees, the first consul with his wife, his generals and their young
wives, would begin the exhilarating, harmless child's-play,
forgetful of all care, void of all fear, except that he should lose
his tree, and that as a penniless individual having to rent a room
he would have to stand in the centre before all eyes, just as first
consul he stood before all eyes in the centre of France, and
struggled for a place the importance and title of which were known
only to his silent soul. But in Malmaison, at the game of "room to
let," Bonaparte had no remembrance whatever of the ambitious wishes
of the first consul; the whole world seemed to have set, the
memories of his youth passed before his eyes in such beauty,
saluting him with the gracious looks of childhood, as nearly to make
him an enthusiast.
How often, when on Josephine's arm, surrounded by a laughing, noisy
group of friends, and walking through shady paths, on hearing the
bells of the neighboring village chime their vespers, would
Bonaparte suddenly interrupt the conversation and stand still to
hear them! With a motion of the hand he would command silence, while
he listened with a smile of grief to sounds which recalled days long
gone by. "These bells remind me of the days of my boyhood," said he
to Josephine; "it seems to me, when I hear them, that I am still in
Brienne."
To keep alive the memories of his school-days in Brienne, he sent
for one of his teachers, the Abbe Dupuis, who had been remarkably
kind to him, and invited him to Malmaison, to arrange there a
library, and to take charge of it; he sent also for the porter of
Brienne whose wife he had so severely prohibited from entering the
theatre, and made him the porter of the chateau.
In bad weather and on rainy days the whole company gathered in the
large drawing-room, and found amusement in playing the various games
of cards, in which Bonaparte not only took much interest, but in
which he so eagerly played, that he often had recourse to apparent
bungling, so as to command success. Adjoining the drawing-room,
where conversation and amusements took place, was a room where the
company sang and practised music, to the delight of Bonaparte, who
often, when one of his favorite tunes was played, would chime in
vigorously with the melody, nowise disturbed by the fact that he
never could catch the right tune, and that he broke out every time
into distressing discordance!
But all songs and music subsided, all plays were interrupted, when
Bonaparte, excited perhaps by the approaching twilight, or by some
awakened memory, began to relate one of those tragic, fearful
stories which no one could tell so well as he. Then, with arms
folded behind his back, he slowly paced the drawing-room, and with
sinister looks, tragic manner, and sepulchral voice, he would begin
the solemn introduction of his narrative:
"When death strikes, at a distance, a person whom we love," said he,
one evening, with a voice tremulous with horror, "a certain
foreboding nearly always makes us anticipate the event, and the
person, touched by the hand of death, appears to us at the moment we
lose him on earth."
"How very sad and mournful that sounds!" sighed Josephine, as she
placed both her arms on Bonaparte's shoulder, as if she would hold
him, and chain him to earth, that he might not vanish away with
every ghost-like form.
Bonaparte turned to her with a genial smile, and shook his head at
her, so as to assure her of his existence and his love. Then he
began his story with all the earnestness and tragic power of an
improvisator of ancient Rome. He told how once Louis XIV., in the
great gallery of Versailles, received the bulletin of the battle of
Friedlingen, and how, unfolding it, he read to the assembled court
the names of the slain and of the wounded. Quietness reigned in the
splendidly-illumined gallery; and the courtiers in their embroidered
coats, who, ordinarily, were so full of merriment and so high-
spirited, had, all at once, become thoughtful. They gathered in a
circle around the monarch, from whose lips slowly, like falling
tears, fell one by one the names of the killed. Here and there the
cheeks of their relatives turned pale. Suddenly the Count de Beaugre
saw appear, at the farther end of the gallery, stately and ghost-
like, the blood-stained figure of his son, who, with eyes wide open,
stared at his father, and saluted him with a slight motion of the
head, and then glided away through the door. "My son is dead!" cried
Count de Beaugre - and, at the very same moment, the king uttered his
name as one of the slain!" [Footnote: Bourrienne, "Memoires," vol.
iii., p. 225.]
"Ah! may I never see such a ghost-like figure," murmured Josephine,
drawing closer to her husband. "Bonaparte, promise me that you will
never go to war again; that you will keep peace with all the world,
so that I may have no cause of alarm!"
"And to tremble at my ghost," exclaimed Bonaparte, laughing. "Look
at this selfish woman, she does not wish me a hero's death, lest I
should appear to her here in the shape of a bloody placard!"
With her small bejewelled hand Josephine closed his mouth, and
ordered lights to be brought; she asked Lavalette to play a lively
dancing-tune, and cried out to the joyous youthful group, at the
head of whom were Hortense and Eugene, to fall in for a dance.
"Nothing more charming," writes the Duchess d'Abrantes, "could be
seen than a ball in Malmaison, made up as it was of the young ladies
whom the military family of the first consul brought together, and
who, without having the name of it, formed the court of Madame
Bonaparte. They were all young, many of them very beautiful; and
when this lovely group were dressed in white crape, adorned with
flowers, their heads crowned with wreaths as fresh as the hues of
their young, laughing, charming faces, it was indeed a bewitching
sight to witness the animated and lively dance in these halls,
through which walked the first consul, surrounded by the men with
whom he discussed and decided the destinies of Europe." [Footnote:
Abrantes, "Memoires," vol. iii., p. 329.]
But the best and most exciting amusement in Malmaison was the
theatre; and nothing delighted Bonaparte so much as this, where the
young troop of lovers in the palace performed little operas and
vaudevilles, and went through their parts with all the eagerness of
real actors, perfectly happy in having the consul and his wife for
audience. In Malmaison, Bonaparte abandoned himself with boundless
joy to his fondness for the theatre; here he applauded with all the
gusto of an amateur, laughed with the laisser-aller of a college-boy
at the harmless jokes of the vaudevilles, and here also he took
great pleasure in the dramatic performances of Eugene, who excelled
especially in comic roles.
Bonaparte had a most convenient stage constructed in Malmaison for
his actors; he had the most beautiful costumes made for each new
piece, and the actors Talma and Michet had to come every week to the
chateau, to give the young people instruction in their parts. The
ordinary actors of this theatre in the castle were Eugene and
Hortense, Caroline Murat, Lauriston, M. Didelot, the prefect of the
palace, some of the officers attached to the establishment, and the
Count Bourrienne, the friend of Bonaparte's youth, who now had
become the first secretary of the consul. The pieces which Bonaparte
attended with the greatest pleasure were the "Barber of Seville,"
and "Mistrust and Malice." The young and amiable Hortense made an
excellent Rosine in the "Barber of Seville," and Bonaparte never
failed to clap his hands in hearty applause to Hortense, when
Josephine with cheerful smiles would thank him, for she seemed as
proud of her daughter's talent as of her husband's applause.
Bourrienne, in his memoirs, gives a faithful description of those
evening theatrical performances, and of the happy life enjoyed in
Malmaison; he lingers with a sober joy over those beautiful and
innocent memories of other days.
"Bonaparte," says he, "found great pleasure in our dramatic
entertainments; he loved to see comedies represented by those who
surrounded him, and oftentimes paid us flattering compliments.
Though it amused me as much as it did the others, yet I was more
than once obliged to call Bonaparte's attention to the fact that my
other occupations did not give me time enough to learn my parts. He
then, in his flattering way, said: 'Ah, Bourrienne, let me alone.
You have so excellent a memory! You know that this is an amusement
to me! You see that these performances enliven Malmaison and make it
cheerful! Josephine is so fond of them! Rise a little earlier!'
"'It is a fact - I sleep a great deal!'
"'Allons, Bourrienne, do it to please me; you do make me laugh so
heartily! Deprive me not of this pleasure. You know well that
otherwise I have but few recreations.'
"'Ah, parbleu! I will not deprive you of it. I am happy to be able
to contribute something to your amusement.' Consequently I rose
earlier, to learn my parts.
"On the theatre days the company at Malmaison was always very large.
After the performance a brilliant crowd undulated like waves in the
halls of the first story. The most animated and varied conversation
took place, and I can truly affirm that cheerfulness and sincerity
were the life of those conversations, and their principal charm.
Refreshments of all kinds were distributed, and Josephine performed
the honors of those gatherings with so much amiableness and
complacency that each one might believe she busied herself more with
him than with any one else. At the end of the delightful soirees,
which generally closed after midnight, we returned to Paris, where
the cares of life awaited us." [Footnote: Bourrienne, "Memoires,"
vol. v., p. 26.]
Time was spent not only in festivities and amusements at Malmaison,
but sciences and arts also formed there a serious occupation, and it
was Josephine who was the prime mover. She invited to the chateau
painters, sculptors, musicians, architects, and savants of every
profession, and thus to the Graces she added the Arts for
companions.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
FLOWERS AND MUSIC.
Above all things, Josephine, in her retreat, devoted her time and
leisure hours to botany and to her dear flowers. Alexander Lenoir,
the famous architect of that day, had to assist her in enlarging the
little castle of Malinaison, and to open more suitable halls for the
arts and sciences. Under Josephine's direction there arose the
splendid library-room resting upon columns; it was Josephine who had
the beautiful gallery of paintings constructed, and also with
remarkable judgment purchased a selection of the finest paintings of
the great masters to adorn this gallery. Besides which, she gave to
living painters orders of importance, and encouraged them to
originate new pieces, that art itself might have a part in the new
era of peace and prosperity, which, under the consulate, seemed to
spread over France.
Alongside of the paintings Josephine adorned this gallery with the
finest antique statues, with a collection of the rarest painted
vases of Pompeii, and with ten paintings on cement, memorials of
Grecian art, representing the nine Muses and Apollo Mersagetos.
These last splendid subjects were a present which the King of Naples
had given to Josephine during her residence in Italy. Always
attentive not only to promote the arts, but also to help the artists
and to increase their reputation, Josephine would buy some new
pieces of sculpture, and give them a place in Malmaison. The two
most exquisite masterpieces of Canova, "The Dancing-Girl" and
"Paris," were purchased by Josephine at an enormous price for her
gallery, whose chief ornament they were.
Her fondness for flowers was such that she spared neither expense
nor labor to procure those worthy of Malmaison. She caused also
large green-houses and hot-houses to be constructed, the latter
suited to the culture of the pineapple and of the peach. In the
green-houses were found flowers and plants of every zone, and of all
countries. People, knowing her taste for botany, sent her from the
most remote places the choicest plants. Even the prince regent of
England, the most violent and bitter enemy of the first consul, had
high esteem for this taste of Josephine; and during the war, when
some French ships, captured by the English, were found to have on
board a collection of tropical plants for her, he had them carried
with all dispatch to Madame Bonaparte.
Josephine had a lofty aim: she wanted to gather into her hot-houses
all the species and families, all the varieties of the tropical
plants, and she strove to accomplish this with a perseverance, a
zeal, and an earnestness of which no one would have thought her
indolent, soft Creole nature capable. To increase her precious
collection, she spared neither money nor time, neither supplications
nor efforts. All travellers, all seafaring men, who came into her
drawing-room were entreated to send plants to Malmaison; and even
the secretary of the navy did not fail to give instructions to the
captains of vessels sailing to far-distant lands to bring back
plants for the wife of the first consul. If it were a matter of
purchase, nothing was too expensive, and when, through her fondness
for beautiful objects, Josephine's purse was exhausted, and her
means curtailed, she sooner gave up the purchase of a beautiful
ornament than that of a rare plant.
The hot-houses of Malmaison caused, therefore, a considerable
increase in her expenses, and were a heavy burden to her treasury;
and for their sake, when the day of payment came, Josephine had to
receive from her husband many severe reproaches, and was forced to
shed many a bitter tear. But this, perhaps, made them still dearer;
no sooner were the tears dried up and the expenses covered, than
Josephine again abandoned herself with renewed zeal to her passion
for collecting plants and costly studies in botany, especially since
she had succeeded in winning to her person the renowned botanist and
learned Bonpland, and in having him appointed superintendent of her
gardens and hot-houses. It was Bonpland who cultivated Josephine's
inclination for botany, and exalted her passion into a science. He
filled the green-houses of Malmaison with the rarest plants, and
taught Josephine at the same time their classifications and sexes,
and she quickly proved herself to be a zealous and tractable pupil.
She soon learned the names of the plants, as well as their family
names, as classified by the naturalists; she became acquainted with
their origin and their virtues, and was extremely sad and dejected
when, in one of her families, a single species was wanting. But what
a joy when this gap was filled! No price was too exorbitant, then,
to procure the missing species; and one day she paid for a small,
insignificant plant from Chili the high price of three thousand
francs, filling Bonpland with ecstasy, but the emperor with deep
wrath as soon as he heard it. [Footnote: Avrillon, "Memoires sur
l'Imperatrice Josephine."]
Next to botany, it was music which Josephine delighted in and
cultivated. Since the cares and the numerous relations of her
diversified life claimed so much of her time, she had abandoned the
exercises of music; and it was only at the hour of unusual serenity
of mind, or of more lively recollections of the past, that she was
heard singing softly one of the songs of her own native isle, even
as Bonaparte himself, when he was meditating and deciding about some
new campaign, would betray the drift of his thoughts by singing
louder and louder the favorite melody of the day, Marlborough s'en
va-t-en guerre. But Josephine had the satisfaction that Hortense was
not only an excellent performer on the piano and the harp, but that
she could also write original compositions, whose softness and
harmonious combinations made them popular throughout France. Another
satisfaction was, that Eugene sang, in a fine clear voice, with
great talent, and that frequently he would by his excellent singing
draw even the first consul into loud expressions of admiration.
Bonaparte was not easily satisfied as regards singing; it was seldom
that music elicited any commendation from him. The Italian music
alone could excite his enthusiasm, and through its impassioned
fervor rouse him up, or its humorous passages enliven him. Therefore
Bonaparte, when consul or emperor, always patronized the Italian
music in preference to any other, and he constantly and publicly
expressed this liking, without considering how much he might thereby
wound the French artistes in their ambition and love of fame. He
therefore appointed an Italian to be first singer at the opera. It
is true this was Maestro Paesiello, whose operas were then making
their way through Europe, and everywhere meeting with approbation.
Bonaparte also was extremely fond of them, and at every opportunity
he manifested to the maestro his good-will and approbation. But one
day this commendation of Paesiello was changed to the most stinging
censure. It was on the occasion of the first representation of
Paesiello's Zingari in Fiera. The first consul and his wife were in
their loge, and to show to the public how much he honored and
esteemed the composer, he had invited Paesiello to attend the
performance in his loge.
Bonaparte followed the performance with the most enthusiastic
demonstrations of gratification; he heartily applauded each part,
and paid to Paesiello compliments which were the more flattering
since every one knew that the lips which uttered them were not
profuse in their use. A tenor part had just ended, and its effect
had been remarkable. The audience was full of enthusiasm. Bonaparte,
who by his hearty applause had given the signal to a storm of
cheers, turned toward Paesiello, and, offering him his hand,
exclaimed:
"Truly, my dear friend, the man who has composed this melody can
boast of being the first composer in Europe!"
Paesiello became pale, his whole body trembled, and, with stammering
voice, he said:
"General, this melody is from Cimarosa. I have placed it in my opera
merely to please the singers."
The first consul shrugged his shoulders.
"I am sorry, my dear sir," said he, "but I cannot recall what I have
said."
The next day, however, he sent to the composer of the opera, as an
acknowledgment of his esteem, a magnificent present, with which he
no doubt wished to heal the pain which he had unwittingly caused the
maestro. But Paesiello possessed a temper easily wounded, and the
more so since he considered himself as the first and greatest
composer in the world, and was sincere in the opinion that others
could compose good music, but that his alone was grand and
distinguished.
Bonaparte's present could not, therefore, heal the wound which the
praise of Cimarosa's melody had inflicted, and this wound was soon
to be probed deeper, and become fatal to Paesiello. Another new
opera from Paesiello, Proserpina, was to be represented. The first
consul, who was anxious to secure for his protege a brilliant
success, had given orders to bring it out in the most splendid
style; the most beautiful decorations and the richest costumes had
been provided, and a stage erected for a ballet, on which the
favorite ballet-leaders of Paris were to practise their art.
The mighty first consul was, on the evening of the first performance
of the opera of Proserpina, to learn the lesson, that there exists a
power which will not be bound in fetters, and which is stronger and
more influential than the dictates of the mighty - the power of
public opinion. This stood in direct opposition to the first consul,
by the voiceless, cold silence with which it received Paesiello's
piece. Bonaparte might applaud as heartily as he pleased, and that
might elicit an echo from the group of his favorites, but the public
remained unmoved, and Bonaparte had the humiliation to see this
opera, notwithstanding his approbation, prove a complete failure. He
felt as nervous and excited as the composer himself, for he declared
loudly and angrily that the French knew nothing about music, and
that it was necessary to teach them that the Italians alone
understood the art of composition.
To teach this to the French the opera of Proserpina was to be
repeated until the mind of the public should have been educated to
its beauty, and they had been forced to acknowledge it. A decided
warfare ensued between this opera and the public, each party being
determined to have its own way; the authorities persevered in having
the performance repeated, and the public kept away from it with
equal obstinacy. The latter, however, had the advantage in this
case, for they could not be forced to attend where they were
unwilling to go, and so they won the victory, and the authorities
had to yield.
Paesiello, touched to the quick by the failure of Proserpina,
resigned his position as leader, and left Paris to return to Italy.
The question now was, how to fill this important and honorable
position. The Parisians were excited about this nomination, and
divided into two parties, each of which defended its candidate with
the greatest zeal, and maintained that he would be the one who would
receive Bonaparte's appointment. The candidates of these two parties
were the Frenchman Mehul and the Italian Cherubini. Those who formed
the party of Cherubini calculated especially on Bonaparte's well-
known preference for Italian music. They knew that, though he was